CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 


.  OP  CALIF.  LIBRARY  J0S  ANGELES 


CHILDREN  OF  THE 
WHIRLWIND 


BY 

LEROY  SCOTT 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  DAUGHTER  OF  TWO  WORLDS," 
'MARY  REGAN,"  "  NO.  13  WASHINGTON  SQUARE,"  ETC. 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MlFFLIN  COMPANY 

(Cbe  fiitoetf  ibe  pres*  CambriD0e 
1921 


COPYRIGHT,    1921,    BY   LEROY   SCOTT 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 


21326B2 


CHILDREN  OF   THE 
WHIRLWIND 

•     • 
• 

CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  an  uninspiring  bit  of  street:  narrow,  paved  with 
cobble;  hot  and  noisy  in  summer,  reeking  with  un- 
wholesome mud  during  the  drizzling  and  snow-slimed 
months  of  winter.  It  looked  anything  this  May  after- 
noon except  a  starting-place  for  drama.  But,  then,  the 
great  dramas  of  life  often  avoid  the  splendid  estates  and 
trappings  with  which  conventional  romance  would  equip 
them,  and  have  their  beginnings  in  unlikeliest  environ- 
ment ;  and  thence  sweep  on  to  a  noble,  consuming  tragedy, 
or  to  a  glorious  unfolding  of  souls.  Life  is  a  composite  of 
contradictions  —  a  puzzle  to  the  wisest  of  us :  the  lily 
lifting  its  graceful  purity  aloft  may  have  its  roots  in  a 
dunghill.  Samson's  dead  lion  putrefying  by  a  roadside 
is  ever  and  again  being  found  to  be  a  storehouse  of  wild 
honey.  We  are  too  accustomed  to  the  ordinary  and  the 
obvious  to  consider  that  beauty  or  worth  may,  after 
bitter  travail,  grow  out  of  that  which  is  ugly  and  un- 
promising. 

Thus  no  one  who  looked  on  Maggie  Carlisle  and 
Larry  Brainard  at  their  beginnings,  had  even  a  guess 
what  manner  of  persons  were  to  develop  from  them  or 
what  their  stories  were  to  be. 

The  houses  on  the  bit  of  street  were  all  three-storied 
and  all  of  a  uniform,  dingy,  scaling  redness.  The  house 
of  the  Duchess,  on  the  left  side  as  you  came  down  the 


4  CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

street  toward  the  little  Square  which  squatted  beside 
the  East  River,  differed  from  the  others  only  in  that 
three  balls  of  tarnished  gilt  swung  before  it  and  un- 
redeemed pledges  emanated  a  weakly  lure  from  behind 
its  dirt-streaked  windows,  and  also  in  that  the  person- 
ality of  the  Duchess  gave  the  house  something  of  a 
character  of  its  own. 

The  street  did  business  with  her  when  pressed  for 
funds;  but  it  knew  little  definite  about  the  Duchess  ex- 
cept that  she  was  shriveled  and  bent  and  almost  word- 
less and  was  seemingly  without  emotions.  But  of  course 
there  were  rumors.  She  was  so  old,  and  had  been  so  long 
in  the  drab  little  street,  that  she  was  as  much  a  legend 
as  a  real  person.  No  one  knew  exactly  how  she  had  come 
by  the  name  of  ''Duchess.0  There  were  misty,  unsup- 
ported stories  that  long,  long  ago  she  had  been  a  favorite 
in  burlesque,  and  that  this  shriveled  being  had  been  a 
shapely  and  royal  figure  in  colored  fleshings,  and  that 
her  title  had  been  given  her  in  those  her  ruling  days. 
Also  there  was  a  vague  story  that  she  had  come  by  the 
name  through  an  old  liking  for  the  romances  of  that 
writer  who  put  forth  her,  or  his,  or  their,  prolific  ex- 
travagances under  the  exalted  pseudonym  of  "The 
Duchess."  Also  there  was  a  rumor  that  the  title  came 
from  a  former  alleged  habit  of  the  Duchess  of  carrying 
beneath  her  shapeless  dress  a  hoard  of  jewels  worthy  to 
be  a  duchy's  heirlooms.  But  all  these  were  just  stories  — 
no  more.  Down  in  this  quarter  of  New  York  nicknames 
come  easily,  and  once  applied  they  adhere  to  the  end. 

Some  believed  that  she  was  now  the  mere  ashes  of  a 
woman,  in  whom  lived  only  the  last  flickering  spark. 
And  some  believed  that  beneath  that  drab  and  spent 
appearance  there  smouldered  a  great  fire,  which  might 
blaze  forth  upon  some  occasion.  But  no  one  knew.  As 
she  was  now,  so  she  had  always  been  even  in  the  memory 
of  people  considered  old  in  the  neighborhood. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND  5 

Beside  the  fact  that  she  ran  a  pawnshop,  which  was 
reputed  to  be  also  a  fence,  there  were  only  two  or  three 
other  facts  that  were  known  to  her  neighbors.  One  was 
that  in  the  far  past  there  had  been  a  daughter,  and  that 
while  still  a  very  young  girl  this  daughter  had  disap- 
peared. It  was  rumored  that  the  Duchess  had  placed  the 
daughter  in  a  convent  and  that  later  the  girl  had  married ; 
but  the  daughter  had  never  appeared  again  in  the  quar- 
ter. Another  fact  was  that  there  was  a  grandson,  a 
handsome  young  devil,  who  had  come  down  occasionally 
to  visit  his  grandmother,  until  he  began  his  involuntary 
sojourn  at  Sing  Sing.  Another  fact  —  this  one  the  best 
known  of  all  —  was  that  two  or  three  years  before  an 
impudent,  willful  young  girl  named  Maggie  Carlisle  had 
come  to  live  with  her. 

It  was  rather  a  meager  history.  People  wondered  and 
talked  of  mystery.  But  perhaps  the  only  mystery  arose 
from  the  fact  that  the  Duchess  was  the  kind  of  woman 
who  never  volunteered  information  about  her  affairs,  and 
the  kind  even  the  boldly  curious  hesitate  to  question.  .  .  . 

And  down  here  it  was,  in  this  unlovely  street,  in  the 
Duchess's  unlovely  house,  that  the  drama  of  Maggie 
Carlisle  and  Larry  Brainard  began  its  unpromising  and 
stormy  career:  for,  though  they  had  thought  of  it  little, 
their  forebears  had  been  sowers  of  the  wind,  they  them- 
selves had  sown  some  of  that  careless  seed  and  were  to 
sow  yet  more  —  and  there  was  to  be  the  reaping  of  that 
seed's  wild  crop. 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEN  Maggie  entered  the  studio  on  the  Duchess's  third 
floor,  the  big,  red-haired,  unkempt  painter  roared  his  re- 
bukes at  her.  She  stiffened,  and  in  the  resentment  of  her 
proud  youth  did  not  even  offer  an  explanation.  Nodding 


6  CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

to  her  father  and  Barney  Palmer,  she  silently  crossed  to 
the  window  and  stood  sullenly  gazing  over  the  single 
mongrel  tree  before  the  house  and  down  the  narrow 
street  and  across  the  little  Square,  at  the  swirling  black 
tide  which  raced  through  East  River.  That  painter  was  a 
beast !  Yes,  and  a  fool ! 

But  quickly  the  painter  was  forgotten,  and  once  more 
her  mind  reverted  to  Larry  —  at  last  Larry  was  coming 
back!  —  only  to  have  the  painter,  after  a  minute,  in- 
terrupt her  excited  imagination  with : 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  tongue,  Maggie?  Gen- 
erally you  stab  back  with  it  quick  enough." 

She  turned,  still  sulky  and  silent,  and  gazed  with  cynical 
superiority  at  the  easel.  "Nuts"  —  it  was  Barney  Pal- 
mer who  had  thus  lightly  rechristened  the  painter  when 
he  had  set  up  his  studio  in  the  attic  above  the  pawnshop 
six  months  before  —  Nuts  was  transferring  the  seamy, 
cunning  face  of  her  father,  "Old  Jimmie"  Carlisle,  to  the 
canvas  with  swift,  unhesitating  strokes. 

"For  the  lova  Christ  and  the  twelve  apostles,  in- 
cluding that  piker  Judas,"  woefully  intoned  Old  Jimmie 
from  the  model's  chair,  "lemme  get  down  off  this  plat- 
form!" 

"  Move  and  I  '11  wipe  my  palette  off  on  that  Mardi  Gras 
vest  of  yours!"  grunted  the  big  painter  autocratically 
through  his  mouthful  of  brushes. 

"O  God  —  and  I  got  a  cramp  in  my  back,  and  my 
neck's  gone  to  sleep!"  groaned  Old  Jimmie,  leaning  for- 
ward on  his  cane.  "Daughter,  dear"  —  plaintively  to 
Maggie  —  "what  is  the  crazy  gentleman  doing  to  me?" 

"  It  fs  an  awful  smear,  father."  Maggie  spoke  slightingly, 
but  with  a  tone  of  doubt.  It  was  not  the  sort  of  picture 
that  eighteen  has  been  taught  to  like  —  yet  the  picture 
did  possess  an  intangible  something  that  provoked  doubt 
as  to  its  quality.  "You  sure  do  look  one  old  burglar!" 

"Not  a  cheap  burglar?"  —  hopefully. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND  7 

"Naw!"  exploded  the  man  at  the  easel  in  his  big 
voice,  first  taking  the  brushes  from  his  mouth.  "You're 
a  swell-looking  old  pirate!  —  ready  to  loot  the  sub- 
treasury  and  then  scuttle  the  old  craft  with  all  hands  on 
board!  A  breathing,  speaking,  robbing  likeness!" 

"Maggie's  right,  and  Nuts's  right,"  put  in  Barney 
Palmer.  "It's  sure  a  rotten  picture,  and  then  again  it 
sure  looks  like  you,  Jimmie." 

The  smartly  dressed  Barney  —  Barney  could  not 
keep  away  from  Broadway  tailors  and  haberdashers  with 
their  extravagant  designs  and  color  schemes  —  dismissed 
the  insignificant  matter  of  the  portrait,  and  resumed  the 
really  important  matter  which  had  brought  him  to  her. 

"Are  you  certain,  Maggie,  that  the  Duchess  hasn't 
heard  from  Larry?" 

"If  she  has,  she  has  n't  mentioned  it.  But  why  don't 
you  ask  her  yourself?" 

"I  did,  but  she  would  n't  say  a  thing.  You  can't  get  a 
word  out  of  the  Duchess  with  a  jimmy,  unless  she  wants 
to  talk  —  and  she  never  wants  to  talk."  He  turned  his 
sharp,  narrowly  set  eyes  upon  the  lean  old  man.  "It's 
got  me  guessing,  Jimmie.  Larry  was  due  out  of  Sing  Sing 
yesterday,  and  we  haven't  had  a  peep  from  him,  and 
though  she  won't  talk  I  'm  sure  he  has  n't  been  here  to  see 
his  grandmother." 

"Sure  is  funny,"  agreed  Old  Jimmie.  "But  mebbe 
Larry  has  broke  straight  into  a  fresh  game  and  is  playing 
a  lone  hand.  He's  a  quick  worker,  Larry  is  —  and  he's 
got  nerve." 

"Well,  whatever 's  keeping  him  we're  tied  up  till 
Larry  comes."  Barney  turned  back  to  Maggie.  "I  say, 
sister,  how  about  robing  yourself  in  your  raiment  of  joy 
and  coming  with  yours  truly  to  a  palace  of  jazz,  there  to 
dine  and  show  the  populace  what  real  dancing  is?" 

"Can't,  Barney.  Mr.  Hunt"  —  the  name  given  the 
painter  at  his  original  christening  —  "asked  the  Duchess 


8  CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

and  me  to  have  dinner  up  here.    He's  to  cook  it  him- 
self." 

"For  your  sake  I  hope  he  cooks  better  than  he  paints." 
And  sliding  down  in  his  chair  until  he  rested  upon  a 
more  comfortable  vertebra,  the  elegant  Barney  lit  a 
monogrammed  cigarette,  and  with  idle  patience  swung 
his  bamboo  stick. 

"You  're  half  an  hour  late,  Maggie,"  Hunt  began  at  her 
again  in  his  rumbling  voice.  "Can't  stand  for  such  a 
waste  of  my  time!" 

"How  about  my  time?"  retorted  Maggie,  who  indeed 
had  a  grievance.  "I  was  supposed  to  have  the  day  off, 
but  instead  I  had  to  carry  that  tray  of  cigarettes  around 
till  the  last  person  in  the  Ritzmore  had  finished  lunch. 
Anyhow,"  she  added,  "  I  don't  see  that  your  time's  worth 
so  much  when  you  spend  it  on  such  painty  messes  as 
these." 

"It's  not  up  to  you  to  tell  me  what  my  time's  worth!" 
retorted  Hunt.  "  I  pay  you  —  that 's  enough  for  you !  .  .  . 
Because  you  weren't  on  time,  I  stuck  Old  Jimmie  out 
there  to  finish  off  this  picture.  I  '11  be  through  with  the 
old  cut- throat  in  ten  minutes.  Be  ready  to  take  his  place." 

"All  right,"  said  Maggie  sulkily. 

For  all  his  roaring  she  was  not  much  afraid  of  the 
painter.  While  his  brushes  flicked  at,  and  streaked  across, 
the  canvas  she  stood  idly  watching  him.  He  was  in  paint- 
smeared,  baggy  trousers  and  a  soft  shirt  whose  open 
collar  gave  a  glimpse  of  a  deep  chest  matted  with  hair 
and  whose  rolled-up  sleeves  revealed  forearms  that 
seemed  absurdly  large  to  be  fiddling  with  those  slender 
sticks.  A  crowbar  would  have  seemed  more  in  harmony. 
He  was  unromantically  old  —  all  of  thirty-five  Maggie 
guessed;  and  with  his  square,  rough-hewn  face  and 
tousled,  reddish  hair  he  was  decidedly  ugly.  But  for  the 
fact  that  he  really  did  work  —  though  of  course  his 
work  was  foolish  —  and  the  fact  that  he  paid  his  way  — 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND  9 

he  bought  little,  but  no  one  could  beat  him  by  so  much  as 
a  penny  in  a  bargain,  not  even  the  Duchess  —  Maggie 
might  have  considered  him  as  one  of  the  many  bums  who 
floated  purposelessly  through  that  drab  region. 

Also,  had  there  not  been  so  many  queer  people  coming 
and  going  in  this  neighborhood  —  Eads  Howe,  the  hobo 
millionaire,  settlement  workers,  people  who  had  grown 
rich  and  old  in  their  business  and  preferred  to  live  near  it 
— Maggie  might  have  regarded  Hunt  with  more  curiosity, 
and  even  with  suspicion;  but  down  here  one  accepted 
queer  people  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  only  fear  being 
that  secretly  they  might  be  police  or  government  agents, 
which  Maggie  and  the  others  knew  very  well  Hunt  was 
not.  When  Hunt  had  rented  this  attic  as  a  studio  they 
had  accepted  his  explanation  that  he  had  taken  it  be- 
cause it  was  cheap  and  he  could  afford  to  pay  no  more, 
Likewise  they  had  accepted  his  explanation  that  he  was  a 
mechanic  by  trade  who  had  roughed  it  all  over  the  world 
and  was  possessed  with  an  itch  for  painting,  that  lately  he 
had  worked  in  various  garages,  that  it  was  his  habit  to 
hoard  his  money  till  he  got  a  bit  ahead  and  then  go  off  on 
a  painting  spree.  All  these  admissions  were  indubitably 
plausible,  for  his  paintings  seemed  the  unmistakable 
handiwork  of  an  irresponsible,  hard-fisted  motor  mechanic. 

Maggie  shifted  to  her  other  foot  and  glanced  casually 
at  the  canvases  which  leaned  against  the  walls  of  the 
shabby  studio.  There  was  the  Duchess:  incredibly  old, 
the  face  a  web  of  wrinkles,  the  lips  indrawn  over  toothless 
and  shrunken  gums,  the  nose  a  thin,  curved  beak,  the  eyes 
deep-set,  gleaming,  inscrutable,  watching;  and  drawn 
tight  over  the  hair  —  even  Maggie  did  not  know  whether 
that  hair  was  a  wig  or  the  Duchess's  —  the  faded  Oriental 
shawl  which  was  fastened  beneath  her  chin  and  which 
fell  over  her  thin,  bent  chest.  There  was  OTlaherty, 
the  good-natured  policeman  on  the  beat.  There  was  the 
old  watchmaker  next  door.  There  was  Black  Hurley,  the 


io          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

notorious  gang  leader,  who  sometimes  swaggered  into  the 
district  like  a  dirty  and  evil  feudal  lord.  There  was 
a  Jewish  pushcart  peddler,  white-bearded  and  skull- 
capped.  There  was  an  Italian  mother  sitting  on  the  curb, 
her  feet  in  the  gutter,  smiling  down  at  the  baby  that  was 
hungrily  suckling  at  her  milk-heavy  breast.  And  so  on, 
and  so  on.  Just  the  ordinary,  uninteresting  things  Maggie 
saw  around  the  block.  There  was  not  a  single  pretty 
picture  in  the  lot. 

Hunt  swung  the  canvas  from  his  easel  and  stood  it 
against  the  wall.  "That'll  be  all  for  you,  Jimmie.  Beat  it 
and  make  room  for  Maggie.  Maggie,  take  your  same 
pose." 

Old  Jimmie  ambled  forward  and  gazed  at  his  portrait 
as  Hunt  was  settling  an  unfinished  picture  on  his  easel. 
It  had  rather  amused  Jimmie  and  filled  in  his  idle  time  to 
sit  for  the  crazy  painter;  and,  incidentally,  another  pic- 
ture of  him  would  do  him  no  particular  harm  since  the 
police  already  .had  all  the  pictures  they  needed  of  him 
over  at  Headquarters.  As  he  gazed  at  Hunt's  work  Old 
Jimmie  snickered. 

"I  say,  Nuts,  what  you  goin'  to  do  with  this  mess  of 
paint?" 

"Going  to  sell  it  to  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  you  old 
sinner!"  snapped  Hunt. 

Old  Jimmie  cackled  at  the  joke.  He  knew  pictures; 
that  is,  good  pictures.  He  had  had  an  invisible  hand  in 
more  than  one  clever  transaction  in  which  handsome 
pictures  alleged  to  have  been  smuggled  in,  Gainsboroughs 
and  Romneys  and  such  (there  had  been  most  profit  for 
him  in  handling  the  forgeries  of  these  particular  masters) , 
had  been  put,  with  an  air  of  great  secrecy,  into  the  hands 
of  divers  newly  rich  gentlemen  who  believed  they  were 
getting  masterpieces  at  bargain  prices  through  this  eva- 
sion of  customs  laws. 

"Nuts,"  chuckled  Old  Jimmie,  "this  junk  wouldn't 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         11 

be  so  funny  if  you  did  n't  seem  to  believe  you  were  really 
painting." 

"Junk!  Funny!"  Hunt  swung  around,  one  big  hand 
closed  about  Jimmie's  lean  neck  and  the  other  seized  his 
lean  shoulder.  "You  grandfather  of  the  devil  and  all 
his  male  progeny,  you  talk  like  that  and  I  '11  chuck  you 
through  the  window!" 

Old  Jimmie  grinned.  The  grip  of  the  big  hands  of  the 
painter,  though  powerful,  was  light.  They  all  knew  that  the 
loud  ravings  of  the  painter  never  presaged  violence.  They 
had  grown  to  like  him,  to  accept  him  as  almost  one  of  them- 
selves; though  of  course  they  looked  down  upon  him  with 
amused  pity  for  his  imbecility  regarding  his  paintings. 

"Get  out  of  here,"  continued  Hunt,  "or  cut  out  all  this 
noise  that  comes  from  your  having  a  brain  that  rattles. 
I've  got  to  work." 

Hunt  turned  again  to  his  easel,  and  Old  Jimmie,  still 
grinning,  lowered  himself  into  a  chair,  lit  a  cigar,  and 
winked  at  Barney.  Hunt,  with  brush  poised,  regarded 
Maggie  a  moment. 

"You  there,  Maggie,"  he  ordered,  "chin  up  a  bit  more, 
some  flash  in  your  eyes,  more  pep  in  your  bearing  —  as 
though  you  were  asking  all  the  dames  of  the  Winter  Gar- 
den, and  the  Charity  Ball,  and  the  Horse  Show,  and  that 
gang  of  tea-swilling  women  at  the  Ritzmore  you  sell 
cigarettes  to  —  as  though  you  were  asking  them  all  who 
the  dickens  they  think  they  are  ...  O  God,  can't  you  do 
anything!" 

"I'm  doing  the  best  I  can,  and  I  look  more  like  those 
dames  than  you  look  like  a  painter!" 

"Shut  up !  I  'm  paying  you  a  dollar  an  hour  to  pose,  not 
to  talk  back  to  me.  And  you  'd  have  more  respect  for  my 
money  if  you  knew  how  hard  I  had  to  work  to  earn  it: 
carrying  a  motor  car  around  in  each  hand.  Wash  off  that 
scowl  and  try  to  look  as  I  said  .  .  .  There,  that's  better. 
Hold  it." 


12     -     CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

He  began  to  paint  rapidly,  with  quick  glances  back  and 
forth  between  the  canvas  and  Maggie.  Maggie's  dress 
was  just  the  ordinary  shirt-waist  and  skirt  that  the  shop- 
girl and  her  sisters  wear;  Hunt  had  ordered  it  so.  She 
was  above  the  medium  height,  with  thick  black  hair 
tinted  with  shadowy  blue,  long  dark  lashes,  dark  scimi- 
tars of  eyebrows,  a  full,  firm  mouth,  a  nose  with  just 
the  right  tilt  to  it  —  all  effective  points  for  Hunt  in  what 
he  wished  to  do.  But  what  had  attracted  him  most  and 
given  him  his  idea  was  her  look;  hardly  pertness,  or  impu- 
dence—  rather  a  cynical,  mature,  defiant  certainty  in 
herself. 

Erect  in  her  cheap  shirt-waist,  she  gazed  off  into  space 
with  a  smiling,  confident  challenge  to  all  the  world. 
Hunt  was  trying  to  make  his  picture  a  true  portrait — and 
also  make  it  a  symbol  of  many  things  which  still  were  only 
taking  shape  in  his  own  mind :  of  beauty  rising  from  the 
gutter  to  overcome  beauty  of  more  favored  birth,  and  to 
reign  above  it;  also  of  a  lower  stratum  surging  up  and 
breaking  through  the  upper  stratum,  becoming  a  part  of 
it,  or  assimilating  it,  or  conquering  it.  Leading  families 
replaced  by  other  families,  classes  replaced  by  other 
classes,  nations  replaced  by  other  nations  —  such  was  the 
inevitable  social  process  —  so  read  the  records  of  the  fifty 
or  sixty  centuries  since  history  began  to  be  written.  Oh, 
he  was  trying  to  say  a  lot  in  this  portrait  of  a  girl  of  or- 
dinary birth  —  even  less  than  ordinary  —  in  her  cheap 
shirt-waist  and  skirt ! 

And  it  pleased  the  sardonic  element  in  Hunt's  unmoral 
nature  that  this  Maggie,  through  whom  he  was  trying  to 
symbolize  so  much,  he  knew  to  be  a  petty  larcenist :  shop- 
lifting and  matters  of  similar  consequence.  She  had  been 
cynically  frank  about  this  to  him;  casual,  almost  boast- 
ful. Her  possessing  a  bent  toward  such  activities  was 
hardly  to  be  wondered  at,  with  her  having  Old  Jimmie 
as  her  father,  and  the  Duchess  as  a  landlady,  and  having 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          13 

for  acquaintances  such  gentlemen  as  Barney  Palmer  and 
this  returning  prison-bird,  Larry  Brainard. 

But  petty  crime,  thought  Hunt,  would  not  be  Maggie's 
forte  if  she  developed  her  possibilities.  With  her  looks, 
her  boldness,  her  cleverness,  she  had  the  makings  of  a 
magnificent  adventuress.  As  he  painted,  he  wondered 
what  she  was  going  to  do,  and  become;  and  he  watched 
her  not  only  with  a  painter's  eye  intent  upon  the  present, 
but  with  keen  speculation  upon  the  future. 


CHAPTER  III 

PRESENTLY  Hunt's  mind  shifted  to  Larry  Brainard,  whom 
Barney  Palmer  and  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle  had  come  here 
to  see.  Hunt  had  a  mind  curious  about  every  thing  and 
every  one;  and  blustering,  bullying  creature  though  he 
was,  he  had  the  gift,  possessed  by  but  few,  of  audaciously 
thrusting  himself  into  other  people's  affairs  without  arous- 
ing their  resentment.  He  was  keen  to  learn  Maggie's  at- 
titude toward  Larry;  and  he  spoke  not  so  much  to  gain 
knowledge  of  Larry  as  to  draw  her  out. 

"This  Larry  —  what  sort  of  chap  is  he,  Maggie?"  As 
with  most  artists,  talking  did  not  interfere  with  Hunt's 
painting. 

Warm  color  slowly  tinted  Maggie's  cheeks.  "He's 
clever,"  she  said  positively.  "You  already  know  that. 
But  I  was  only  a  girl  when  he  was  sent  away." 

Hunt  smiled  at  her  idea  of  her  present  maturity,  implied 
by  her  last  sentence.  "But  you  lived  with  the  Duchess 
for  a  year  before  he  was  sent  away.  You  must  have  seen 
a  lot  of  him,  and  got  to  know  him  well." 

"Oh,  he  used  to  come  down  now  and  then  to  see  his 
grandmother  —  I  was  only  fifteen  or  sixteen  then  —  just 
a  girl,  and  he  did  n't  pay  much  attention  to  me.  Father 
can  tell  you  better  just  how  smart  he  is." 


I4         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Old  Jimmie  spoke  up  promptly.  He  knew  Hunt  was 
not  a  police  stool,  and  he  liked  the  painter  as  much  as  it 
was  in  him  to  like  any  man ;  so  he  felt  none  of  the  reserve 
or  caution  that  might  have  controlled  him  in  other  com- 
pany. 

"  You  bet  Larry 's  smart !  Got  the  quickest  brain  of  any 
con  man  in  the  business  —  and  him  only  about  twenty- 
seven  now.  Some  think  I'm  a  smooth  proposition  myself, 
but  Larry  puts  it  all  over  me.  That 's  why  I  'm  willing  to 
let  him  be  my  boss.  He 's  a  wonder  at  thinking  up  new 
stunts,  and  then  at  working  out  safe  new  ways  of  putting 
them  across." 

"But  the  police  landed  him  at  last,"  commented  Hunt. 

"Yes,  but  that  was  only  because  another  man  muffed 
his  end  of  the  job." 

The  handsome  Barney  Palmer  had  been  restless  during 
Old  Jimmie's  eulogy.  "  Oh,  Larry 's  all  to  the  good  —  but 
he's  not  the  only  party  that's  got  real  ideas." 

"Huh!"  grunted  Old  Jimmie.  "But  you'll  remember 
that  we  haven't  put  over  any  big  ones  since  Larry's 
been  in  stir." 

"That's  been  because  you  would  n't  listen  to  any  of 
my  ideas!"  retorted  Barney.  "And  I  handed  out  some 
peaches." 

Even  during  the  period  of  Larry's  active  reign  it  had 
irked  Barney  to  accept  another  man  as  leader,  and  it  had 
irked  him  even  more  during  the  interregnum  while  Larry 
was  guest  of  the  State.  For  Barney  believed  in  his  own 
Napoleonic  strain. 

"  Don't  let  yourself  get  sore,  Barney,"  Old  Jimmie  said 
appeasingly.  "You'll  have  plenty  of  chances  to  try  out 
your  ideas  as  the  main  guy  before  you  cash  in.  You  know 
the  outfit  wanted  to  lay  low  for  a  while,  anyhow.  But 
we  '11  be  putting  over  a  lot  of  the  big  stuff  when  Larry  gets 
out." 

Hunt  had  noted  a  quick  light  come  into  Maggie's  dark 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          15 

eyes  while  her  father  praised  the  absent  leader.  He  him- 
self suddenly  perceived  a  new  possibility. 

"Maggie,  ever  think  about  teaming  up  with  Larry?" 
he  demanded,  with  his  audacious  keenness. 

She  flushed,  and  hesitated.  He  did  not  wait  for  her 
slow-coming  reply,  but  turned  to  her  father. 

"Jimmie,  did  Larry  ever  use  women  in  his  stunts?" 

"Never.  Whenever  we  suggested  using  a  skirt,  Larry 
absolutely  said  there  was  nothing  doing.  That 's  one  point 
where  he  was  all  wrong.  Nothing  helps  so  much,  when 
the  sucker  is  at  all  sentimental,  as  a  clever,  good-looking 
woman.  And  Larry '11  come  around  to  it  all  right.  He'll 
see  the  sense  of  it,  now  that  he's  older  and  has  had  two 
years  to  think  things  over." 

Old  Jimmie  nodded,  showing  his  yellow  teeth  in  a  sly 
grin.  "You  said  something  a  second  ago:  Maggie  and 
Larry!  They'll  make  a  wonder  of  a  team!  I  mean  that 
she  '11  work  under  him  with  the  rest  of  us.  I  Ve  been  think- 
ing about  it  a  long  while.  Mebbe  you  have  n't  guessed 
it,  but  we've  been  coaching  her  for  the  part,  and  she's 
just  about  ripe.  She 's  got  the  looks,  and  we  can  dress  her 
right  for  whatever  job's  on  hand.  Oh,  Larry '11  put  over 
some  great  things  with  Maggie!" 

If  Hunt  felt  that  there  was  anything  cynically  un- 
paternal  in  this  father  planning  for  his  daughter  a  career 
of  crime,  he  gave  no  sign  of  it.  His  attention  was  just  then 
all  on  Maggie.  He  saw  her  eyes  grow  yet  more  bright  at 
these  last  sentences  of  her  father:  bright  with  the  vision  of 
approaching  adventure. 

"The  idea  suits  you,  Maggie?"  he  asked. 

"Sure.   It'll  be  great  —  for  Larry  is  a  wonder!" 

Barney  Palmer  suddenly  rose,  his  face  twisted  with 
anger.  "I'm  all  fed  up  on  this  Larry,  Larry,  Larry! 
Come  on,  Jimmie.  Let's  get  uptown." 

Wise  Old  Jimmie  saw  that  Barney  was  near  an  out- 
burst. "All  right,  Barney,  all  right,"  he  said  promptly. 


16         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Not  much  use  waiting  any  longer,  anyhow.  If  Larry 
comes,  we'll  fix  it  with  the  Duchess  to  meet  him  to- 
morrow." 

"Then  so-long,  Maggie,"  Barney  flung  at  her,  and  that 
swagger  ex-jockey,  gambler,  and  clever  manipulator  of 
the  confidence  of  people  with  money,  slashed  aside  the 
shabby  burlap  curtains  with  his  wisp  of  a  bamboo  walk- 
ing-stick, and  strode  out  of  the  room. 

"Good-night,  daughter,"  and  Old  Jimmie  crossed  and 
kissed  her.  She  kissed  him  back  —  a  perfunctory  kiss. 
Maggie  had  never  paused  to  think  the  matter  out,  but 
for  some  reason  she  felt  little  real  affection  for  her 
father,  though  of  course  she  admired  his  astuteness. 
Perhaps  her  unconscious  lack  of  love  was  due  in  part  to 
the  fact  that  she  had  never  lived  with  him.  Ever  since  she 
remembered  he  had  boarded  her  out,  here  and  there,  as 
he  was  now  boarding  her  at  the  Duchess's  —  and  had 
only  come  to  visit  her  at  intervals,  sometimes  intervals 
that  stretched  into  months. 

"Barney  is  rather  sweet  on  you,"  remarked  Hunt  after 
the  two  were  gone. 

"I  know  he  is,"  conceded  Maggie  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way. 

"And  he  seems  jealous  of  Larry — both  regarding  you, 
and  regarding  the  bunch." 

"He  thinks  he  can  run  the  bunch  just  as  well  as 
Larry.  Barney 's  clever  all  right,  and  has  plenty  of  nerve 
—  but  he's  not  in  Larry's  class.  Not  by  a  million 
miles!" 

Hunt  perceived  that  this  daring,  world-defying,  embry- 
onically  beautiful  model  of  his  had  idealized  the  home- 
coming nephew  of  the  Duchess  into  her  especial  hero. 
Hunt  said  no  more,  but  painted  rapidly.  Night  had  fallen 
outside,  and  long  since  he  had  switched  on  the  electric 
lights.  He  seemed  not  at  all  finicky  in  this  matter  of 
light;  he  had  no  supposedly  indispensable  north  light,  and 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          17 

midday  or  midnight  were  almost  equally  apt  to  find  him 
slashing  with  brush  or  scratching  with  crayon. 

Presently  the  Duchess  entered.  No  word  was  spoken. 
The  Duchess,  noteworthy  for  her  mastery  of  silence,  sank 
into  a  chair,  a  bent  and  shrunken  image,  nothing  seem- 
ingly alive  about  her  but  her  faintly  gleaming,  deep-set 
eyes.  Several  minutes  passed,  then  Hunt  lifted  the  can- 
vas from  the  easel  and  stood  it  against  the  wall. 

"That's  all  for  to-day,  Maggie,"  he  announced,  push- 
ing the  easel  to  one  side.  "Duchess,  you  and  this  wild 
young  thing  spread  the  banquet- table  while  I  wash  up." 

He  disappeared  into  a  corner  shut  off  by  burlap  curtains. 
From  within  there  issued  the  sound  of  splashing  water 
and  the  sputtering  roar  of  snatches  of  the  Toreador's  song 
in  a  very  big  and  very  bad  baritone. 

Maggie  put  out  a  hand,  and  kept  the  Duchess  from 
rising.  "Sit  still  —  I'll  fix  the  table." 

Silently  the  Duchess  acquiesced.  Maggie  had  never 
felt  any  tenderness  toward  this  strange,  silent  woman 
with  whom  she  had  lived  for  three  years,  but  it  was 
perhaps  an  indication  of  qualities  within  Maggie,  whose 
existence  she  herself  never  even  guessed,  that  she  in- 
stinctively pushed  the  old  woman  aside  from  tasks  which 
involved  any  physical  effort.  Maggie  now  swung  the  back 
of  a  laundry  bench  up  to  form  a  table-top,  and  upon  it 
proceeded  to  spread  a  cloth  and  arrange  a  medley  of 
chipped  dishes.  As  she  moved  swiftly  and  deftly  about, 
the  Duchess  watching  her  with  immobile  features,  these 
two  made  a  strangely  contrasting  pair:  one  seemingly 
spent  and  at  life's  grayest  end,  the  other  electric  with 
vitality  and  giving  off  the  essence  of  life's  unknown  ad- 
ventures. 

Hunt  stepped  out  between  the  curtains,  pulling  on  his 
coat.  "You'll  find  that  chow  in  my  fireless  cooker  will 
beat  the  Ritz,"  he  boasted.  "The  tenderest,  fattest  kind 
of  a  fatted  calf  for  the  returned  prodigal." 


18          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Maggie  started.  "The  prodigal!  You  mean  —  Larry  is 
coming?" 

"Sure,"  grinned  Hunt.   "That's  why  we  celebrate." 

Maggie  wheeled  upon  the  Duchess.  "Is  Larry  really 
coming?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"But — but  why  the  uncertainty  about  when  he  was 
coming  back  ?  Father  and  Barney  thought  he  was  due 
to  get  out  yesterday." 

"Just  a  mistake  we  all  made  about  his  release.  His 
time  was  up  this  afternoon." 

"But  you  told  Barney  and  my  father  you  hadn't 
heard  from  him." 

"I  had  heard,"  said  the  Duchess  in  her  flat  tone.  "If 
they  want  to  see  him  they  can  see  him  to-morrow." 

"When  —  when  will  he  be  here?" 

"Any  minute,"  said  the  Duchess. 

Without  a  word  Maggie  whirled  about  and  the  next 
moment  she  was  in  her  room  on  the  floor  below.  She  did 
not  know  what  prompted  her,  but  she  had  a  frantic  de- 
sire to  get  out  of  this  plain  shirt-waist  and  skirt  and  into 
something  that  would  be  striking.  She  considered  her 
scanty  wardrobe;  her  father  had  recently  spoken  of  hand- 
some gowns  and  furnishings,  but  as  yet  these  existed  only 
in  his  words,  and  the  pseudo-evening  gowns  which  she 
had  worn  to  restaurant  dances  with  Barney  she  knew  to 
be  cheap  and  uneffective. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  the  things  Hunt  had  given 
her,  or  had  loaned  her,  the  evening  four  months  earlier 
when  he  had  taken  her  to  an  artists'  masquerade  ball  — 
though  to  her  it  had  been  a  bitter  disappointment  when 
Hunt  had  carried  her  away  before  the  unmasking  at 
twelve  o'clock.  She  tore  off  the  offending  waist  and  skirt, 
pulled  from  beneath  the  bed  the  pasteboard  box  con- 
taining her  costume;  and  in  five  minutes  of  flying  hands 
the  transformation  was  completed.  Her  thick  hair  of  bur- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          19 

nished  black  was  piled  on  top  of  her  head  in  gracious  dis- 
order, and  from  it  swayed  a  scarlet  paper  flower.  About 
her  lithe  body,  over  a  black  satin  skirt,  swathing  her 
in  its  graceful  folds,  clung  a  Spanish  shawl  of  saffron- 
colored  background  with  long  brown  silken  fringe,  and 
flowered  all  over  with  brown  and  red  and  peacock  blue, 
and  held  in  place  by  three  huge  barbaric  pins  jeweled  with 
colored  glass,  one  at  either  hip  and  upon  her  right  shoulder, 
leaving  her  smooth  shoulders  bare  and  free.  With  no 
more  than  a  glance  to  get  the  hasty  effect,  she  hurried 
up  to  the  studio. 

Hunt  whistled  at  sight  of  her,  but  made  no  remark. 
Flushed,  she  looked  back  at  him  defiantly.  The  Duchess 
gave  no  sign  whatever  of  being  aware  of  the  trans- 
formation. 

Maggie  with  excited  touches  tried  to  improve  her  set- 
ting of  the  table,  aquiverwith  expectancy  and  suspense 
at  the  nearness  of  the  meeting  —  every  nerve  of  audition 
strained  to  catch  the  first  footfall  upon  the  stairs.  Hunt, 
watching  her,  could  but  wonder,  in  case  Larry  was  the 
clever,  dashing  person  that  had  been  described,  what 
would  be  the  outcome  when  these  two  natures  met  and 
perhaps  joined  forces. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHILE  the  preparations  for  dinner  were  going  on  in  the 
studio,  down  below  Larry  turned  a  corner  and  swung  up 
the  narrow  street  toward  the  pawnshop.  He  halted  and 
peered  in  before  entering ;  in  doing  this  he  was  obeying  the 
caution  that  was  his  by  instinct  and  training. 

Leaning  over  the  counter  within  and  chatting  with 
his  grandmother's  assistant  was  Casey,  one  of  the  two 
plain-clothesmen  who  had  arrested  him.  Larry  drew 
back.  He  was  not  afraid  of  Casey,  or  of  Ga vegan,  Casey's 


20          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

partner,  or  of  the  whole  police  force,  or  of  the  State  of 
New  York;  they  had  nothing  on  him,  he  had  settled  ac- 
counts by  having  done  his  bit.  All  the  same,  he  preferred 
not  to  meet  Casey  just  then.  So  he  went  down  the  street, 
crossed  the  cobbled  plaza  along  the  water-front,  and 
slipped  through  the  darkness  among  the  trucks  out  to 
the  end  of  the  pier.  Under  his  feet  the  East  River  splashed 
sluggishly  against  the  piles,  but  out  near  the  river's 
center  he  could  see  the  tide  swirling  out  to  sea  at  six 
miles  an  hour,  toward  the  great  shadowy  Manhattan 
Bridge  crested  with  its  splendid  tiara  of  lights. 

He  stretched  himself  and  breathed  deeply  of  the  warm 
free  spring.  It  tasted  good  after  two  long  years  of  the 
prison's  sealed  air.  He  would  have  liked  to  shed  his  cloth- 
ing and  dive  down  for  a  brisk  fight  with  the  tingling  water. 
Larry  had  always  taken  pleasure  in  keeping  his  body  fit. 
He  had  not  cared  for  the  gymnasiums  of  the  ward  clubs 
where  he  would  have  been  welcome;  in  them  there  had 
been  too  much  rough  horseplay  and  foulness  of  mouth, 
and  such  had  always  been  offensive  to  him.  And  though 
he  had  ever  looked  the  gentleman,  he  had  known  that 
the  New  York  Athletic  Club  and  other  similar  clubs  were 
not  for  him;  they  pried  a  bit  too  much  into  a  candidate's 
social  and  professional  standing.  So  he  had  turned  to  a 
club  where  really  searching  inquiries  were  rarely  made; 
for  years  he  had  belonged  to  a  branch  of  the  Y.M.C.A. 
located  just  off  Broadway,  and  had  played  handball  and 
boxed  with  chunky,  slow-footed  city  detectives  who  were 
struggling  to  retain  some  physical  activity,  and  with  fat 
playwrights,  and  with  Jewish  theatrical  managers,  and 
with  the  few  authentic  Christians  who  occasionally 
strayed  into  the  place  and  seemed  ill  at  ease  therein.  He 
had  liked  this  club  for  another  reason;  his  sense  of  humor 
had  often  been  highly  excited  by  the  thought  of  his  being 
a  member  of  the  Y.M.C.A. 

Having  this  instinct  for  physical  fitness,  he  had  not 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          21 

greatly  minded  being  a  coal-passer  during  the  greater  part 
of  his  stay  at  Sing  Sing;  better  that  than  working  in  the 
knitting  mills;  so  that  now,  though  underfed  and  under 
weight,  he  was  active  and  hard-muscled. 

Larry  Brainard  could  not  have  told  why,  and  just 
when,  he  had  turned  to  devious  ways.  He  had  never  put 
that  part  of  his  life  under  the  microscope.  But  the  simple 
facts  were  that  he  had  become  an  orphan  at  fifteen  and  a 
broker's  clerk  at  nineteen  after  a  course  in  a  business  col- 
lege ;  and  that  experiences  with  wash-sales  and  such  de- 
vious and  dubious  practices  of  brokers,  his  high  spirits,  his 
instinct  for  pleasure,  his  desire  for  big  winnings  —  these 
had  swept  him  into  a  wild  crowd  before  he  had  been  old 
enough  to  take  himself  seriously,  and  had  started  him 
upon  a  brilliant  career  of  adventures  and  unlawful  money- 
making  in  whose  excitement  there  had  been  no  let-up 
until  his  arrest.  He  had  never  thought  about  such  tech- 
nical and  highly  academic  subjects  as  right  and  wrong 
up  to  the  day  when  Casey  and  Gavegan  had  slipped  the 
handcuffs  upon  him.  To  laugh,  to  dance,  to  plan  and  di- 
rect clever  coups,  to  spend  the  proceeds  gayly  and  lavishly 
—  to  challenge  the  police  with  another  daring  coup:  that 
had  been  life  to  him,  a  game  that  was  all  excitement. 

And  now,  after  two  years  in  which  there  had  been 
plenty  of  time  for  thinking,  his  conscience  still  did  not 
trouble  him  on  the  score  of  his  offenses.  He  believed,  and 
was  largely  right  in  this  belief,  that  the  suckers  he  had 
trimmed  had  all  been  out  to  secure  unlawful  gain  and  to 
take  cunning  advantage  of  his  supposedly  foolish  self 
and  of  other  dupes.  He  had  been  too  clever  for  them, 
that  was  all ;  in  desire  and  intent  they  had  been  as  great 
cheats  as  himself.  So  he  felt  no  remorse  over  his  victims ; 
and  as  for  anything  he  may  have  done  against  that  im- 
personal entity,  the  criminal  statutes,  why,  the  period 
in  prison  had  squared  all  such  matters.  So  he  now  faced 
life  pleasantly  and  with  care-free  soul. 


22          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Larry  had  turned  away  from  the  dark  river  and  had 
started  to  retrace  his  way,  when  he  saw  a  man  approach- 
ing through  the  darkness.  Larry  paused.  The  man  drew 
near  and  halted  exactly  in  front  of  Larry.  By  the  swing 
of  his  body  Larry  had  recognized  the  man,  and  his  own 
figure  instinctively  grew  tense. 

"What  you  doin'  out  here,  Brainard?"  The  voice  was 
peremptory  and  rough. 

"Throwing  kisses  over  at  Brooklyn,"  Larry  replied 
coolly.  "And  what  are  you  doing  out  here,  Gavegan?" 

"  Following  you.  I  wanted  a  quiet  word  with  you.  I  've 
been  right  behind  you  ever  since  you  hit  New  York." 

"I  knew  you  would  be.  You  and  Casey.  But  you 
have  n't  got  anything  on  me." 

"I  got  plenty  on  you  before!  —  with  Casey  helping," 
retorted  Gavegan.  "And  I  '11  get  plenty  on  you  again!  — 
now  that  I  know  you  are  the  main  guy  of  a  clever  outfit. 
You  '11  be  starting  some  smooth  game  —  but  I  'm  going  to 
be  right  after  you  every  minute.  And  I '11  get  you.  That's 
the  news  I  wanted  to  slip  you." 

"So!"  commented  Larry  drawlingly.  "Casey's  a 
fairly  decent  guy,  considering  his  line  —  but,  Gavegan, 
I  don't  see  how  Casey  stands  you  as  a  partner.  And, 
Gavegan,  I  don't  see  why  the  Board  of  Health  lets  you 
stay  around  the  streets  —  when  putrefying  matter 
causes  so  much  disease." 

"None  of  your  lip,  young  feller!"  growled  Gavegan. 
He  stepped  closer,  bulking  over  Larry.  "You  think  you 
are  such  a  damned  smart  talker  and  such  a  damned 
clever  schemer  —  but  I'll  bet  I'll  have  you  locked  up 
in  six  months." 

Anger  boiled  up  within  Larry.  Against  all  the  persons 
connected  with  his  arrest,  trial,  and  imprisonment,  he 
had  no  particular  resentment,  except  against  this  one 
man.  He  never  could  forget  the  time  he  and  Gavegan, 
he  handcuffed,  had  been  locked  in  a  sound-proof  cell,  and 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         23 

Gavegan  had  given  him  the  third  degree  —  in  this  case 
a  length  of  heavy  rubber  hose,  applied  with  a  powerful 
arm  upon  head  and  shoulders  —  in  an  effort  to  make 
him  squeal  upon  his  confederates.  And  that  third  degree 
was  merely  a  sample  of  the  material  of  which  Gavegan 
was  made. 

Larry  held  his  desire  in  leash.  "So  you  bet  you'll  get 
me.  I  '11  take  that  bet  —  any  figure  you  like.  I  Ve  al- 
ready got  a  new  game  cooked  up,  Gavegan.  Cleverer 
than  anything  I've  ever  tried  before." 

"Oh,  I'll  get  you!"  Gavegan  growled  again. 

"Oh,  no,  you  won't!"  And  then  Larry's  old  anger 
against  Gavegan  got  into  his  tongue  and  made  it  wag 
tauntingly.  "You  did  n't  get  me  the  last  time;  that 
was  a  slip  and  police  stools  got  me.  All  by  yourself, 
Gavegan,  you  couldn't  get  anything.  Your  brain's  got 
flat  tires,  and  its  motor  does  n't  fire,  and  its  clutch  is 
broken.  The  only  thing  about  it  that  still  works  is  the 
horn.  You've  got  a  hell  of  a  horn,  Gavegan,  and  it  never 
stops  blowing." 

A  tug  was  nearing  the  dock,  and  by  its  light  Larry 
saw  the  terrific  swing  that  the  enraged  detective  started. 
Larry  swayed  slightly  aside,  and  as  Gavegan  lunged  by, 
Larry's  right  fist  drove  into  Gavegan's  chin  —  drove 
with  all  the  power  of  his  dislike  and  all  the  strength  of 
five  years  in  a  Y.M.C.A.  gymnasium  and  a  year  in  a 
prison  boiler-room. 

Gavegan  went  down  and  out. 

Larry  gazed  a  moment  at  the  dim,  sprawling  figure, 
then  turned  and  made  his  way  off  the  pier  and  again  to 
the  door  of  the  pawnshop.  Casey  was  gone;  he  could 
see  no  one  within  but  Old  Isaac,  the  assistant. 

Larry  opened  the  door  and  entered.  "Hello,  Isaac. 
Where's  grandmother?" 

It  is  not  a  desirable  trait  in  one  connected  with  a 
pawnshop,  that  is  also  reputed  to  be  a  fence,  to  show 


24          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

surprise  or  curiosity.  So  Isaac's  reply  was  confined  to  a 
few  facts  and  brief  direction. 

Wondering,  Larry  mounted  the  stairway  which  opened 
from  the  confidential  business  room  behind  the  pawn- 
shop. It  was  common  enough  for  his  grandmother  to 
rent  out  the  third  floor;  but  to  a  painter,  and  a  crazy 
painter  —  that  seemed  strange.  And  yet  more  strange 
was  it  for  her  to  be  having  dinner  with  the  painter. 

Larry  knocked  at  the  door.  A  big  male  voice  within 
gave  order: 

"Be  parlor-maid,  Maggie,  and  see  who's  there." 

The  door  opened  and  Larry  half  entered.  Then  he 
stopped,  and  in  surprise  gazed  at  the  flushed,  gleaming 
Maggie,  slender  and  supple  in  the  folds  of  the  Spanish 
shawl. 

"Why,  Maggie!"  he  exclaimed,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"Larry!" 

She  was  thrillingly  confused  by  his  surprised  ad- 
miration. For  a  moment  they  stood  gazing  at  each 
other,  holding  hands.  The  clothes  given  him  on  leaving 
prison  were  of  course  atrocious,  but  in  all  else  he  measured 
up  to  her  dreams:  lithe,  well-built,  handsome,  a  laugh 
ready  on  his  lips,  and  the  very  devil  of  daring  in  his 
smiling,  gray-blue  eyes. 

"How  you  have  grown  up,  Maggie!"  he  said,  still 
amazed. 

"That's  all  I've  had  to  do  for  two  years,"  she  re- 
turned. 

"Come  on  in,  Larry,"  said  the  Duchess. 

Larry  shut  the  door,  bowed  with  light  grace  as  he  had 
to  pass  in  front  of  Maggie,  and  crossed  to  the  Duchess. 

"Hello,  grandmother,"  he  said  as  though  he  had  last 
seen  her  the  day  before.  He  held  out  his  hand,  the  left 
one,  and  she  took  it  in  a  mummified  claw.  In  all  his 
life  he  had  never  kissed  his  grandmother,  nor  did  he  re- 
member ever  having  been  kissed  by  her. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          25 

"Glad  you're  back,  Larry."  She  dropped  his  hand. 
"The  man's  name  is  Hunt." 

Larry  turned  to  the  painter.  His  laughing  eyes  could 
be  sharp;  they  were  penetratingly  sharp  now.  And  so 
were  Hunt's  eyes. 

Larry  held  out  his  hand,  again  the  left.  "And  so 
you're  the  painter?" 

"They  call  me  a  painter,"  responded  Hunt,  "but 
none  of  them  believe  I  'm  a  painter." 

Larry  turned  again  to  Maggie.  "And  so  you  're  actually 
Maggie!  Meaning  no  offense"  —  and  there  was  a  smiling 
audacity  in  his  face  that  it  would  have  been  hard  to  have 
taken  offense  at  —  "I  don't  see  how  Old  Jimmie  Car- 
lisle's daughter  got  such  looks  without  stealing  them." 

"Well,  then,"  retorted  Maggie,  "I  don't  see  how  you 
got  your  looks  unless  —  " 

She  broke  off  and  bit  her  tongue.  She  had  been  about 
to  retort  with  the  contrast  between  Larry's  face  and 
his  shriveled,  hook-nosed  grandmother's.  They  all  per- 
ceived her  intention,  however. 

Larry  came  instantly  to  her  rescue  with  almost  im- 
perceptible ease. 

"Dinner!"  he  exclaimed,  gazing  at  the  miscellany  of 
dishes  on  the  table.  "Am  I  invited?" 

"Invited?"  said  Hunt.   "You're  the  guest  of  honor." 

"Then  might  the  guest  of  honor  beg  the  privilege  of 
cleaning  up  a  bit?"  Larry  drew  his  right  hand  from  his 
coat  pocket,  where  it  had  been  all  this  while,  and  started 
to  unwind  the  handkerchief  which  he  had  wound  about 
his  knuckles  as  he  had  crossed  from  the  pier. 

"  Is  your  hand  hurt  much?  "  Maggie  inquired  eagerly. 

"Just  skinned  my  knuckles." 

"How?" 

"They  happened  to  connect  with  a  flatfoot's  jaw 
while  he  was  trying  to  make  hypnotic  passes  at  me.  He's 
coming  to  about  now.  Officer  Gavegan." 


26         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Gavegan!"  exclaimed  Hunt.  "You  picked  a  tough 
bird.  Young  man,  you  're  off  to  a  grand  start  —  a  charge 
of  assault  on  an  officer  the  very  day  they  turn  you  out 
of  jail." 

Larry  smiled.  "Gavegan  is  a  dirty  one,  but  he'll 
make  no  charge  of  assault.  He  claims  to  be  heavy- 
weight champion  boxer  of  the  Police  Department.  Put 
a  fine  crimp  in  his  reputation,  would  n't  it,  if  he  ad- 
mitted in  public  that  he'd  been  knocked  out  by  a  fellow, 
bare-handed,  supposed  to  be  weak  from  prison  life, 
forty  pounds  lighter.  He  'd  get  the  grand  razoo  all  along 
the  line.  Oh,  Gavegan  will  never  let  out  a  peep." 

"  He'll  square  things  in  some  other  way,"  said  Hunt.  i 

"I  suppose  he'll  try,"  Larry  responded  carelessly. 
"Where's  the  first-aid  room?" 

Hunt  showed  him  through  the  curtains.  When  he 
came  out,  Hunt,  Maggie,  and  the  Duchess  were  all  en- 
gaged in  getting  the  dinner  upon  the  table.  Additional 
help  would  only  be  interference,  so  Larry's  eyes  wan- 
dered casually  to  the  canvases  standing  in  the  shadows 
against  the  walls. 

"Mr.  Hunt,"  he  remarked,  "you  seem  to  have  earned 
a  very  real  reputation  of  its  sort  in  the  neighborhood. 
Old  Isaac  downstairs  told  me  you  were  crazy  —  said 
they  called  you  '  Nuts '  —  said  you  were  the  worst 
painter  that  ever  happened." 

"Yeh,  that's  what  they  say,"  agreed  Hunt. 

"They  certainly  are  awful,  Larry,"  put  in  Maggie, 
coming  to  his  side.  "Father  thinks  they  are  jokes,  and 
father  certainly  knows  pictures.  Just  look  at  a  few  of 
them." 

"Yeh,  look  at  'em  and  have  a  good  laugh,"  invited 
Hunt. 

Larry  carried  the  portrait  of  the  Duchess  to  beneath 
the  swinging  electric  bulb  and  examined  it  closely. 
Maggie,  at  his  shoulder,  waited  for  his  mirth;  and  Hunt 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         27 

regarded  him  with  a  sidelong  gaze.  But  Larry  did  not 
laugh.  He  silently  returned  the  picture,  and  then  ex- 
amined the  portrait  of  Old  Jimmie  —  then  of  Maggie  — 
then  of  the  Italian  madonna,  throned  on  her  curbstone. 
He  replaced  this  last  and  crossed  swiftly  to  Hunt. 
Maggie  watched  this  move  in  amazement. 

Larry  faced  the  big  painter.  His  figure  was  tense,  his 
features  hard  with  suspicion.  That  moment  one  could 
understand  why  he  was  sometimes  called  "Terrible 
Larry";  just  then  he  looked  a  devastating  explosion  that 
was  still  unexploded. 

"What's  your  game  down  here,  Hunt?"  he  demanded 
harshly. 

"My  game?"  repeated  the  big  painter.  "I  don't  get 
you." 

"Yes,  you  do!  You're  down  here  posing  as  a  boob  who 
smears  up  canvases!" 

"What's  wrong  with  that?" 

"Only  this:  those  are  not  crazy  daubs.  They're  real 
pictures!" 

"Eh!"  exclaimed  Hunt.  Maggie  stared  in  bewilder- 
ment at  the  two  men. 

Hunt  spoke  again.  "What  the  dickens  do  you  know 
about  pictures?  Old  Jimmie,  who's  said  to  be  a  shark, 
thinks  all  these  things  are  just  comics." 

"Jimmie  only  thinks  a  picture's  good  after  a  thousand 
press-agents  have  said  it's  good,"  Larry  returned.  "I 
studied  at  the  Academy  of  Design  for  two  years,  till  I 
learned  I  could  never  paint.  But  I  know  pictures." 

"And  you  think  mine  are  good?" 

"Not  in  the  popular  manner  —  they're  too  original. 
But  they're  great.  And  you're  a  great  painter.  And  I 
want  to  know  — " 

"Hurray!"  shouted  Hunt,  and  flung  an  enthusiastic 
arm  about  Larry,  and  began  to  pound  his  back.  "Oh, 
boy!  Oh,  boy!" 


28          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Larry  wrenched  himself  free.  "  Cut  that  out.  Then  you 
admit  you're  a  great  painter?" 

"Of  course  I'm  a  great  painter !"  shouted  Hunt.  "Who 
should  know  it  better  than  I  do?  " 

"Then  what 's  a  great  painter  doing  down  here?  What 's 
the  game  you're  trying  to  put  over,  posing  as  — " 

"Listen,  son,"  Hunt  grinned.  "You've  called  me  and 
I  Ve  got  to  show  my  cards.  Only  you  must  n't  ever  tell  — 
nor  must  Maggie;  the  Duchess  doesn't  talk,  anyway. 
No  need  bothering  you  just  now  with  a  lot  of  details  about 
myself.  It's  enough  to  say  that  people  would  n't  pay  me 
except  when  I  did  the  usual  pretty  rot;  no  one  believed  in 
the  other  stuff  I  wanted  to  do.  I  wanted  to  get  away  from 
that  bunch;  I  wanted  to  do  real  studies  of  human  people, 
with  their  real  nature  showing  through.  So  I  beat  it. 
Understand  so  far?" 

"But  why  pose  as  a  dub  down  here?" 

"  I  never  started  the  yarn  that  I  was  a  dub.  The  people 
who  looked  at  my  work,  and  laughed,  started  that  talk. 
I  did  n't  shout  out  that  I  was  a  great  artist  for  the  mighty 
good  reason  that  if  I  had,  and  had  been  believed,  the 
people  who  posed  for  me  either  would  n't  have  done  it  or 
would  have  been  so  self-conscious  that  they  would  have 
tried  to  look  like  some  one  else,  and  would  never  have 
shown  me  themselves  at  all.  Thinking  me  a  joke,  they  just 
acted  natural.  Which,  young  man,  is  about  all  you  need  to 
know." 

Maggie  looked  on  breathlessly  at  the  two  men,  be- 
wildered by  this  new  light  in  which  Hunt  was  presented, 
and  fascinated  by  the  tense  alertness  of  her  hero,  Larry. 

Slowly  Larry's  tensity  dissipated.  "  I  don't  know  about 
the  rest  of  your  make-up,"  he  said  slowly,  "but  as  a 
painter  you're  a  whale." 

"The  rest  of  him's  all  right,  too,"  put  in  the  dry,  un- 
emotional voice  of  the  Duchess.  "  Dinner 's  ready.  Come 
on." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          29 

As  they  moved  to  the  table  Hunt  clapped  a  big  hand  on 
Larry's  shoulder.  "And  to  think,"  he  chuckled,  "it  took 
a  crook  fresh  from  Sing  Sing  to  discover  me  as  a  great 
artist!  You're  clever,  Larry  —  clever!  Maggie,  get  the 
corkscrew  into  action  and  fill  the  glasses  with  the  choicest 
vintage  of  H2O.  A  toast.  Here's  to  Larry!" 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  dinner  was  simple:  beef  stewed  with  potatoes  and 
carrots  and  onions,  and  pie,  and  real  coffee.  But  it 
measured  up  to  Hunt's  boast:  the  chef  of  the  Ritz,  limited 
to  so  simple  a  menu,  could  indeed  have  done  no  better. 
And  Larry,  after  his  prison  fare,  was  dining  as  dine  the 
gods. 

The  irrepressible  Hunt,  trying  to  read  this  new  speci- 
men that  had  come  under  his  observation,  sought  to 
draw  Larry  out.  "Barney  Palmer  and  Old  Jimmie  were 
here  this  afternoon,  wanting  to  see  you.  They've  got 
something  big  waiting  for  you.  I  suppose  you  're  all  ready 
to  jump  in  and  put  it  over  with  a  wallop." 

" I'm  going  to  put  something  over  with  a  wallop  —  but 
I  guess  business  will  have  to  wait  until  Barney,  Jimmie, 
and  I  have  a  talk.  Can  you  spare  me  a  little  more  of  that 
stew?" 

His  manner  of  speaking  was  a  quiet  announcement  to 
Hunt  that  his  plans  were  for  the  present  a  closed  subject. 
Hunt  felt  balked,  for  this  lean,  alert,  much-talked-of  ad- 
venturer piqued  him  greatly;  but  he  switched  to  other 
subjects,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  meal  did  most  of  the 
talking.  The  Duchess  was  silent,  and  seemingly  was 
concerned  only  with  her  food.  Larry  got  in  a  fair  portion 
of  speech,  but  for  the  most  part  his  attention,  except  for 
that  required  for  eating,  was  fixed  upon  Maggie. 

How  she  had  sprung  up  since  he  had  last  seen  her!  Al- 


30         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

most  a  woman  now  —  and  destined  to  be  a  beauty !  And 
more  than  just  a  beauty:  she  was  colorful,  vital,  high- 
strung.  Before  he  had  gone  away  he  had  regarded  her  with 
something  akin  to  the  negligent  affection  of  an  older 
brother.  But  this  thing  which  was  already  beginning 
to  surge  up  in  him  was  altogether  different,  and  he  knew 
it. 

As  for  Maggie,  when  she  looked  at  him,  she  flushed  and 
her  eyes  grew  bright.  Larry  was  back!  —  the  brilliant, 
daring  Larry.  She  was  aware  that  she  had  been  successful 
in  startling  and  gripping  his  attention.  Yes,  they  would 
do  great  things  together ! 

When  the  dinner  was  finished  and  the  dishes  washed, 
Larry  gave  voice  to  this  new  urge  that  had  so  quickly 
grown  up  within  him. 

"What  do  you  say,  Maggie,  to  a  little  walk?" 

"All  right,"  she  replied  eagerly. 

They  went  down  the  narrow  stairway  together.  On 
the  landing  of  the  second  floor,  which  contained  only 
Maggie's  bedroom  and  the  Duchess's  and  a  tiny  kitchen, 
Maggie  started  to  leave  him  to  change  into  street  clothes ; 
but  he  caught  her  arm  and  said,  "Come  on."  They  de- 
scended the  next  flight  and  came  into  the  back  room  be- 
hind the  pawnshop,  which  the  Duchess  used  as  a  combina- 
tion of  sitting-room,  office,  and  storeroom.  About  this 
musty  museum  hung  or  stood  unredeemed  seamen's 
jackets,  men  and  women's  evening  wear,  banjos,  guitars, 
violins,  umbrellas,  and  one  huge  green  stuffed  parrot 
sitting  on  top  of  the  Duchess's  safe. 

"I  wanted  to  talk,  not  walk,"  he  said.  "Let's  stay 
here." 

He  took  her  hands  and  looked  down  on  her  steadily. 
Under  the  yellow  gaslight  her  face  gleamed  excitedly  up 
into  his,  her  breath  came  quickly. 

"Well,  sir,  what  do  you  think  of  me?"  she  demanded. 
"Have  I  changed  much?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         31 

"Changed?  Why,  it's  magic,  Maggie!  I  left  you  a 
schoolgirl;  you're  a  woman  now.  And  a  wonder!" 

"You  think  so?"  She  flushed  with  pride  and  pleasure, 
and  a  wildness  of  spirit  possessed  her  and  demanded  ex- 
pression in  action.  She  freed  her  left  hand  and  slipped  it 
over  Larry's  shoulder.  "Come  on  —  let's  two-step." 

"But,  Maggie,  I've  forgotten." 

"Come  on!" 

Instantly  she  was  dragging  him  over  the  scanty  floor 
space.  But  after  a  moment  he  halted,  protesting. 

"These  prison  brogans  were  not  intended  by  their 
builders  for  such  work.  If  you  Ve  got  to  dance,  you  '11  have 
to  work  it  out  of  your  system  alone." 

"All  right!" 

At  once,  in  the  midst  of  the  dingy  room,  humming  the 
music,  she  was  doing  Carmen's  dance  —  wild,  provoca- 
tive, alluring.  It  was  not  a  remarkable  performance  in 
any  professionally  technical  sense;  but  it  had  vivid  per- 
sonality; she  was  light,  lithe,  graceful,  flashing  with 
color  and  spirits. 

"Maggie!"  he  exclaimed,  when  she  had  finished  and 
stood  before  him  glowing  and  panting.  "Good!  Where 
did  you  learn  that?" 

"In  the  chorus  of  a  cabaret  revue." 

"  Is  that  what  you  're  doing  now,  working  in  a  chorus?" 

"No.  Barney  and  father  said  a  chorus  was  no  place 
for  me."  She  drew  nearer.  "  Oh,  Larry,  I  Ve  such  a  lot  to 
tell  you." 

"Goon." 

"Well"  —  she  cocked  her  head  impishly  —  "I've 
been  going  to  school." 

' '  Going  to  school !  Where  ? ' ' 

"Lots  of  places.  Just  now  I'm  going  to  school  at  the 
Ritzmore  Hotel." 

1 '  At  the  Ritzmore  Hotel ! "  He  stared  at  her  bewildered. 
"What  are  you  learning  there?" 


32         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"To  be  a  lady."  She  laughed  at  his  increasing  be- 
wilderment. "A  real  lady,  Larry,"  she  went  on  excitedly. 
"Oh,  it 's  such  a  wonderful  idea !  Father  had  never  seemed 
to  think  much  of  me  till  the  night  I  went  to  a  masquerade 
ball  with  Mr.  Hunt,  and  he  and  Barney  saw  me  in  these 
clothes.  They  had  never  seen  me  really  dressed  up  before ; 
Barney  said  it  was  an  eye-opener.  They  saw  how  I  could 
be  of  big  use  to  you  all.  But  to  be  that,  I  Ve  got  to  be  a 
lady  —  a  real  lady,  who  knows  how  to  behave  and  wear 
real  clothes.  That's  what  they're  doing  now:  making  me 
a  lady." 

"Making  you  a  lady!"  exclaimed  Larry.   "How?" 

"By  putting  me  where  I  can  watch  real  ladies,  and 
study  them.  Barney  cut  short  my  being  in  a  chorus; 
Barney  said  a  chorus  girl  never  learned  to  pass  for  a 
lady.  So  I  've  been  working  in  places  where  the  swellest 
women  come.  First  in  a  milliner  shop ;  then  as  dresser  to  a 
model  in  the  shop  of  a  swell  modiste ;  always  watching  how 
the  ladies  behave.  Now  I  'm  at  the  Ritzmore,  and  I  carry  a 
tray  of  cigarettes  around  the  tables  at  lunch  and  at  tea- 
time  and  during  dinner  and  during  the  after-theater 
supper.  I  'm  supposed  to  be  there  to  sell  cigarettes,  but  I  'm 
really  there  to  watch  how  the  ladies  handle  their  knives 
and  forks  and  behave  toward  the  men.  Is  n't  it  all  awfully 
clever?" 

"Why,  Maggie!"  he  exclaimed. 

"And  pretty  soon,  when  I've  learned  more,"  she  con- 
tinued rapidly,  "I'm  going  to  have  swell  clothes  of  my 
own  —  and  be  a  lady  —  and  get  away  from  this  dingy, 
stuffy,  dead  old  place!  I  can't  stand  for  being  buried 
down  here  much  longer.  And,  oh,  Larry,  I'm  going  to 
begin  to  work  with  you!" 

"What?"  he  blinked,  not  yet  quite  understanding. 

"You  think  I'm  not  clever  enough?  But  I  am!"  she 
protested.  "I  tell  you  I've  learned  a  lot.  And  Barney 
and  father  have  let  me  help  in  a  lot  of  things  —  nothing 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         33 

really  big  yet,  of  course.  They  think  I  'm  going  to  be  a 
wonder.  Just  to-day  father  was  saying  that  you  and  I, 
teamed  up  —  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Larry?" 

"You  and  I  —  teamed  up,"  he  repeated  slowly. 

"Yes.   Don't  you  like  the  idea?" 

His  hands  suddenly  gripped  her  bare  shoulders. 

"There 's  nothing  to  it !"  he  exclaimed  almost  savagely. 

"What's  that?"  she  cried,  startled. 

"I  tell  you  there's  nothing  to  it!" 

"You  —  you  think  I  can't  put  it  over?" 

"You  can't!  And  I'm  not  going  to  have  it!" 
."Why  — why— " 

Staring,  she  drew  slowly  away  from  him.  His  face, 
which  a  few  moments  before  had  been  smiling,  was  now 
harsh  and  dominant  with  decision.  She  had  heard  him 
spoken  of  as  "Laughing  Larry";  and  also  as  "Terrible 
Larry"  whose  aroused  will  none  could  brook.  He  looked 
this  latter  person  now,  and  she  could  not  understand. 

But  though  she  could  not  understand,  her  own  defiant 
spirit  stormed  up  to  fight  this  unexpected  opposition. 
He  did  n't  believe  in  her  —  that  was  it!  He  did  n't  think 
she  was  equal  to  working  with  him!  Her  young  figure 
stiffened  in  angered  pride,  and  her  mind  was  gathering 
hot  phrases  to  fling  at  him  when  the  door  from  the  pawn- 
shop began  to  creak  open.  Instantly  Larry  turned  toward 
it,  relaxed  and  yet  alert  for  anything.  Old  Jimmie  and 
Barney  Palmer  entered. 

"Hello,  Larry!"  cried  the  old  man,  crossing.  "Wel- 
come to  our  city!" 

"Hello,  Jimmie.  Hello,  Barney."  And  Larry  shook 
hands  with  his  partners  of  other  days. 

"Gee,  Larry,  it's  good  to  see  you!"  exclaimed  the 
cunning-eyed  old  man.  "  Did  n't  know  you  were  back  till 
I  bumped  into  Gavegan  on  Broadway.  He  told  me,  and 
so  Barney  and  I  beat  it  over  here  to  see  you.  Believe  me, 
Larry,  that  flatfoot  is  certainly  sore  at  you!" 


34         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Larry  ignored  the  last  sentence.  "  Think  it  exactly  wise 
for  you  two  to  come  here?" 

"Why,  Larry?" 

"Gavegan,  Casey,  the  police,  may  follow,  thinking 
you  've  come  to  see  me  for  some  purpose.  That  outfit  may 
act  upon  suspicion." 

Jimmie  grinned  cunningly.  "A  man  can  come  to  visit 
his  own  daughter  as  often  as  he  likes.  Father  love, 
Larry." 

"  I  see ;  that  '11  be  your  explanation."  Larry's  eyes  grew 
keen  at  the  new  understanding.  "  I  had  n't  thought  of 
that  before,  Jimmie.  So  that's  why  you've  always 
boarded  Maggie  around  in  shady  joints:  so's  you  could 
meet  your  pals  and  yet  always  have  the  excuse  that  you 
had  come  to  meet  your  daughter?" 

"Partly  that,"  smiled  Old  Jimmie  blandly  —  per- 
haps too  blandly.  "Suppose  we  sit  down." 

They  did  so,  Maggie  sitting  a  little  apart  from  the 
men  and  regarding  Larry  with  indignant,  questioning 
eyes.  She  still  could  not  understand  his  queer  behavior 
when  she  had  announced  her  intention  of  working  with 
him.  Could  it  be,  as  her  father  had  said,  because  he  would 
never  work  with  women  —  not  trusting  them?  She'd 
show  him! 

She  was  so  occupied  with  this  wonderment  that  she 
gave  no  heed  to  the  talk  about  Larry's  experience  in  Sing 
Sing  and  Old  Jimmie's  recital  of  what  had  happened 
among  Larry's  friends  during  his  absence.  During  this 
gossip  the  Duchess  entered  from  the  stairway,  and  with- 
out word  to  any  one  shuffled  across  to  her  desk  in  a  cor- 
ner and  bent  silently  over  her  accounts:  just  one  more 
grotesque  and  unredeemed  pledge  in  this  museum  of 
antiquities  and  forgotten  pawns. 

Presently  Barney  Palmer,  who  had  been  impatient 
during  all  this,  broke  out  with: 

"Aw,  let's  cut  out  this  chatter  about  what  used  to  be 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         35 

and  get  down  to  cases.  Jimmie,  will  you  spill  the  business 
to  Larry,  or  want  me  to?" 

"  I  '11  tell  him.  Listen,  Larry."  Maggie  pricked  up  her 
ears;  the  talk  was  now  excitingly  important.  "We've 
got  our  very  greatest  game  all  planned  out.  Stock-selling 
game ;  going  to  unload  the  whole  thing  on  one  sucker,  and 
we  've  got  the  sucker  picked  out.  Besides  you  and  Barney 
and  me,  there's  Red  Hannigan  and  Jack  Rosenfeldt  in  it 
—  a  classy  bunch  all  right.  And  we  think  that  for  the 
woman  end  we'll  take  in  Mae  Gorham.  She's  clever  and 
innocent-eyed  — " 

"But  I  thought  you  were  going  to  take  me  in!"  pro- 
tested Maggie. 

"Maggie '11  be  just  as  good  as  Mae  Gorham,"  put  in 
Barney. 

"We'll  let  that  pass,"  said  Old  Jimmie.  "The  main 
thing,  Larry,  is  that  everything  is  ready.  It 's  a  whale  of  a 
business  proposition.  We  've  been  waiting  for  you ;  you  're 
all  that 's  lacking  —  the  brainy  guy  to  sit  behind  the 
scenes  and  manage  the  thing.  You  Ve  handled  the  bunch 
for  a  long  time,  and  they  want  you  to  handle  this.  For 
you're  sure  a  wonder  at  business,  Larry!  None  keener. 
Well,  we've  held  this  off  waiting  for  you  for  a  month. 
How  about  jumping  right  in?" 

All  three  eyed  Larry.  His  lean  face  was  expressionless. 
He  lit  a  cigarette,  rose  and  leaned  against  the  Duchess's 
safe  on  which  stood  the  green  parrot,  and,  gaze  on  the 
floor,  slowly  exhaled  smoke  through  his  nostrils. 

"Well?"  demanded  Barney. 

Larry  looked  at  the  two  men  with  quiet,  even  eyes. 
"Thanks  to  both  of  you.  It's  a  great  compliment.  But 
I've  had  time  to  do  a  little  planning  myself  up  in  Sing 
Sing,  and  I've  worked  out  a  game  that's  got  this  one 
beat  a  mile." 

"Hell!"  ejaculated  Barney  in  wrathful  disgust.  "Jim- 
mie, I  told  you  we  were  wasting  time  waiting  for  him!" 


36          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Hold  on  a  second,  Barney.  If  Larry's  worked  out  a 
better  game,  he'll  take  us  into  it.  But,  Larry,  how  can 
your  game  beat  this  one?" 

"Because  there's  more  money  in  it.  And  because  it's 
safer." 

"Safe!  Aw,  hell!"  The  smouldering  jealousy  and 
hatred  glared  out  of  Barney's  greenish  eyes.  "I  always 
knew  you  had  a  yellow  streak!  Something  safe!  Aw, 
hell!" 

"Don't  blow  up,  Barney.  What  is  the  new  game, 
Larry?"  queried  the  old  man. 

Larry  regarded  the  two  men  steadfastly.  He  seemed 
reluctant  to  speak. 

"Well?"  prompted  Old  Jimmie.  " Is  it  something  you 
don't  want  to  let  us  in  on?" 

"Of  course  I'll  let  you  in  on  it,  and  be  glad  to,  if  you 
want  to  come  in,"  Larry  replied  in  his  level  tone.  "As  I 
said,  I've  thought  it  all  out  and  it's  a  great  proposition. 
Here's  the  game:  I'm  going  to  run  straight." 

For  a  moment  all  three  sat  astounded  by  this  quiet 
statement  from  their  leader.  Nothing  he  might  have  said 
could  have  been  more  unexpected,  more  stupefying.  The 
Duchess  alone  moved;  she  turned  her  head  and  held  her 
sunken  eyes  upon  her  grandson. 

Simultaneously  the  two  men  and  Maggie  stood  up. 

"The  hell  you  say!"  grated  Barney  Palmer. 

"Larry,  you  gone  crazy?"  cried  Old  Jimmie. 

Maggie  moved  a  pace  nearer  him.  "Going  to  go 
straight?"  she  asked  incredulously. 

"Listen,  all  of  you,"  Larry  said  quietly.  "No,  Jimmie, 
I  've  not  gone  crazy.  I  'm  merely  going  a  little  sane.  You 
just  said  I  was  a  wonder  at  business,  Jimmie.  I  think  I 
am  myself.  I  thought  it  all  over  as  a  business  proposi- 
tion. Suppose  we  clean  up  fifty  or  a  hundred  thousand 
on  a  big  deal.  We've  got  to  split  it  several  ways,  perhaps 
pay  a  big  piece  to  the  police  for  protection,  perhaps  pay 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          37 

a  lot  of  lawyers,  and  then  perhaps  get  sent  away  for  a 
year  or  several  years,  during  which  we  don't  take  in  a 
nickel.  I  figured  that  over  a  term  of  years  my  average 
income  was  mighty  small.  As  a  business  man  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  was  in  a  poor  business,  with  no  future.  So  I  de- 
cided to  get  into  a  new  business  that  had  a  future.  That 's 
the  size  of  it." 

"You're  turning  yellow  —  that's  the  real  size  of  it!" 
snarled  Barney  Palmer,  half  starting  toward  him. 

"Better  be  a  little  careful,  Barney,"  Larry  warned  with 
tightening  jaw. 

"You  really  mean,  Larry,"  demanded  Old  Jimmie, 
"that  you're  going  to  drop  us  after  us  counting  on  you 
and  waiting  for  you  so  long?" 

"I'm  sorry  about  having  kept  you  waiting,  Jimmie. 
But  we've  parted  definitely."  Then  Larry  added:  "Un- 
less you  want  to  travel  my  road." 

"Your  road!  Never!"  snapped  Barney. 

"And  you,  Jimmie?"  Larry  inquired,  his  eyes  on  Bar- 
ney's inflamed  face. 

"  I  don't  see  your  proposition.  And  I  'm  too  old  a  bird 
to  start  something  new.  No,  thanks.  I  '11  stick  to  what  I 
know." 

His  next  words,  showing  his  long  yellow  teeth,  were 
spoken  slowly,  but  they  were  hard,  and  had  a  cutting 
edge.  "You've  got  a  sweet  idea  of  what's  straight, 
Larry:  dropping  us  without  a  leader,  just  when  we  need  a 
leader  most." 

Larry's  composed  yet  watchful  gaze  was  still  on  Bar- 
ney. "You're  not  really  left  in  such  a  bad  way.  Barney 
here  is  ready  to  take  charge." 

"You  bet  I  am!"  Barney  flamed  at  him,  his  hands 
clenching.  "And  the  bunch  won't  lose  by  the  change,  you 
bet !  The  bunch  always  thought  you  were  an  ace  —  and 
I  always  knew  you  were  a  two-spot.  And  now  they  '11  see  I 
was  right  —  that  you  were  always  yellow!" 


38         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Larry  still  leaned  against  the  safe  in  the  same  posture 
of  seeming  ease,  but  he  expected  Barney  to  strike  at  any 
moment,  and  held  himself  in  readiness  for  a  flashing  fist. 
Barney  had  been  hard  to  hold  in  leash  in  the  old  days; 
now  that  all  ties  of  partnership  were  broken,  he  saw  in 
those  small  gleaming  eyes  a  defiance  and  a  hatred  that 
henceforth  had  no  reason  for  restraint.  And  he  knew  that 
Barney  was  shrewd,  grimly  tenacious,  and  limitless  in 
self-confidence  and  ambition. 

"And  listen  to  this,  too,  Larry  Brainard,"  Barney's 
temper  carried  him  on.  "Don't  you  mix  in  and  try  any 
preaching  on  Maggie."  He  half  turned  his  head  jealously. 
"Maggie,  don't  you  listen  to  any  of  this  boob's  Salvation 
Army  talk!" 

Maggie  did  not  at  once  respond,  but  stood  gazing  at  the 
two  confronting  figures.  To  her  they  were  an  oddly  dis- 
similar pair :  Barney  in  the  smartest  clothes  that  an  over- 
smart  Broadway  tailor  could  create,  and  Larry  in  the 
shapeless  garments  that  were  the  State's  gift  to  him  on 
leaving  prison. 

"Maggie,"  he  repeated,  "don't  you  listen  to  this 
boob's  talk!" 

"  I  '11  do  just  as  I  please,  Barney." 

"But  you're  going  to  come  our  way?"  he  demanded. 

"Of  course." 

He  turned  back  to  Larry.  "You  hear  that?  You  leave 
Maggie  alone!" 

Larry  did  not  answer,  though  his  temper  was  rising. 
He  looked  over  Barney's  head  at  Maggie's  father. 

"Jimmie,"  he  remarked  in  his  same  even  voice,  "any- 
thing more  you'd  like  to  say?" 

"I'm  through." 

"Then,"  said  Larry, " better  lead  your  new commander- 
in-chief  out  of  here,  or  I'll  carry  him  out  and  spank 
him." 

"What's  that?"  snarled  Barney. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          39 

"Get  out!"  Larry  ordered,  in  a  voice  suddenly  like 
steel. 

Barney's  fist  swung  viciously  at  Larry's  head.  It  did 
not  land,  because  Larry's  head  was  elsewhere.  Larry 
did  not  take  advantage  of  the  opening  to  strike  back,  but 
as  the  fist  flashed  by  he  seized  the  wrist,  and  in  the  same 
instant  he  seized  the  other  wrist.  The  next  moment  he 
held  Barney  helpless  in  a  twisting,  torturing  grip  that  he 
had  learned  from  one  of  his  non-Christian  friends  at  the 
Y.M.C.A. 

"Barney  —  are  you  going  to  walk  out,  or  shall  I  kick 
you  out?" 

Barney's  answer  came  after  a  moment  through  gritted 
teeth:  "I'll  walk  out  — but  I'll  get  you  for  this!" 

"I  know  you'll  try,  Barney.  And  I  know  you'll  try  to 
get  me  behind  my  back."  Larry  loosed  his  grip.  "Good- 
night." 

Barney  backed  glowering  to  the  door;  and  Old  Jimmie, 
his  gray  face  an  expressionless  mask,  silently  followed 
him  out. 

All  this  while  the  Duchess  had  looked  on,  motionless  in 
her  corner,  a  dingy,  forgotten  part  of  the  dingy  background 
—  no  more  noticeable  than  one  of  her  own  dusty,  bizarre 
pledges. 

CHAPTER  VI 

FOR  a  moment  after  the  door  had  closed  upon  Barney  and 
Old  Jimmie,  Larry  stood  gazing  at  it.  Then  he  turned  to 
Maggie. 

She  was  standing  slenderly  upright.  Her  head  was  im- 
periously high,  her  black  eyes  defiant.  Neither  spoke  at 
once.  More  than  before  was  he  impressed  by  her  present 
and  her  potential  beauty.  Till  this  night  he  had  thought 
of  her  only  casually,  as  merely  a  young  girl ;  he  was  not 
now  consciously  in  love  with  her  —  her  young  woman- 


40         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

hood  had  burst  upon  him  too  suddenly  for  such  a  con- 
sciousness —  but  a  warm  tingling  went  through  him  as 
he  gazed  at  her  imperious,  self-confident  youth.  Part  of 
his  mind  was  thinking  much  the  same  thought  that  Hunt 
had  considered  a  few  hours  earlier:  here  were  the  makings 
of  a  magnificent  adventuress. 

"Maggie,"  he  mused,  "you  did  n't  get  your  looks  from 
your  father.  You  must  have  had  a  fine-looking  mother." 

"I  don't  know  —  I  never  saw  her,"  she  returned 
shortly. 

"Poor  kid,"  Larry  mused  on  —  "and  with  only  Old 
Jimmie  for  a  father."  She  did  not  know  what  to  say.  For 
a  long  time  she  had  dreamed  of  this  man  as  her  hero ;  she 
had  dreamed  of  splendid  adventures  with  him  in  which 
she  should  win  his  praise.  And  now  —  and  now  — 

He  switched  to  another  subject. 

"So  you  have  decided  to  string  along  with  your  father 
and  Barney?" 

"I  have." 

"Don't  you  do  it,  Maggie." 

"Don't  you  preach,  Larry." 

"  I  'm  not  preaching.  I  'm  just  talking  business  to  you. 
The  same  as  I  talked  business  to  myself.  The  crooked 
game  is  a  poor  business  for  a  woman  who  can  do  something 
else  —  and  you  can  do  something  else.  I  've  known  a  lot 
of  women  in  the  crooked  game.  They've  all  had  a  rotten 
finish,  or  are  headed  for  one.  So  forget  it,  Maggie.  There 's 
more  in  the  straight  game." 

She  had  swiftly  come  to  feel  herself  stronger  and  wiser 
than  her  ex-hero.  In  her  tremendous  pride  and  confidence 
of  eighteen,  she  regarded  him  almost  with  pitying  con- 
descension. 

"Something's  softened  your  brain,  Larry.  I  know 
better.  The  people  who  pretend  to  go  straight  are  just 
fakes;  they're  playing  a  different  kind  of  a  smooth  game, 
that's  all.  Everybody  is  out  to  get  his,  and  get  it  the  eas- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          41 

iest  and  quickest  way  he  can.  You  know  that's  so.  And 
that's  just  what  I  am  going  to  do." 

Larry  had  once  talked  much  the  same  way,  but  it 
seemed  puzzlingly  strange  just  now  to  hear  such  talk 
from  a  young  girl.  Then  he  understood. 

"You  could  n't  help  having  such  ideas,  Maggie,  living 
among  crooks  ever  since  you  were  a  kid.  Why,  Old  Jim- 
mie  could  not  have  used  better  methods,  or  got  better 
results,  if  he  had  set  out  consciously  to  make  you  a  crook." 
Then  a  sudden  possibility  came  to  him.  "  D'  you  suppose 
he  could  always  have  had  that  plan  —  to  make  you  into 
a  crook?"  he  asked. 

"What  difference  does  that  make?"  she  demanded 
shortly. 

"A  funny  thing  for  a  father  to  do  with  his  own  child," 
Larry  returned.  "But  whether  Jimmie  intended  it  or 
not,  that's  just  what  he's  done." 

"What  I  am,  I  am,"  she  retorted  with  her  imperious 
defiance.  Just  then  she  felt  that  she  hated  him;  she  quiv- 
ered with  a  desire  to  hurt  him :  he  had  so  utterly  destroyed 
her  romantic  hero  and  her  romantic  dreams.  Her  hands 
clenched. 

"You  talk  about  going  straight  —  it's  all  rot!"  she 
flamed  at  him.  "A  lot  of  men  say  they're  going  straight, 
but  no  one  ever  does!  And  you  won't  either!" 

"You  think  I  won't?" 

"I  know  you  won't!  You  don't  know  how  to  do  any 
regular  work.  And,  besides,  no  one  will  give  a  crook  a 
chance." 

She  had  unerringly  placed  her  finger  upon  his  two  great 
problems,  and  Larry  knew  it;  he  had  considered  them 
often  enough. 

"All  the  same,  I'm  going  to  make  good!"  he  declared. 

"Oh,  no,  you're  not!" 

Perhaps  he  was  stirred  chiefly  by  the  sting  of  her 
taunting  tongue,  by  the  blaze  of  her  dark,  disdainful  eyes ; 


42          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

and  perhaps  by  the  changed  feeling  toward  this  creature 
whom  he  had  left  a  half-grown  girl  and  returned  to  find 
a  woman.  At  any  rate,  he  crossed  and  seized  her  wrists 
and  gazed  fiercely  down  upon  her. 

"I  tell  you,  I'm  going  to  go  straight,  and  I'm  going 
to  make  a  success  of  it !  You  '11  see ! "  And  then  he  added 
dominantly:  "What's  more,  I'm  going  to  make  you  go 
straight,  too!" 

She  made  no  attempt  to  free  herself,  but  blazed  up  at 
him  defiantly.  " You '11  make  me  do  nothing.  I'm  going 
to  be  just  what  I  said,  and  I  'm  going  to  make  a  success 
of  it.  Just  wait  —  I  '11  prove  to  you  what  I  can  do ! 
And  you  —  you  '11  be  a  failure,  and  will  come  slinking 
back  and  beg  us  to  take  you  in!" 

They  glared  at  each  other  silently,  angrily,  their 
aroused  wills  defying  each  other.  For  a  moment  they 
stood  so.  Then  something  —  a  mixture  of  his  desire  to 
dominate  this  defiant  young  thing  and  of  that  growing 
change  in  him  toward  her  —  surged  madly  into  Larry's 
head.  He  caught  Maggie  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

All  the  rigidity  went  suddenly  from  her  figure  and  she 
hung  loose  in  his  embrace.  Their  gazes  held  for  a  moment. 
She  went  pale,  and  quivering  all  through  she  looked  up 
at  him  in  startled,  wide-eyed  silence.  As  for  Larry,  a 
dizzying,  throbbing  emotion  permeated  his  whole  as- 
tonished being. 

Suddenly  she  pushed  herself  free  from  his  relaxing 
arms,  and  backed  away  from  him. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?"  she  whispered  huskily. 

But  she  did  not  wait  for  his  answer.  She  turned  and 
hurried  for  the  stairway.  Three  steps  up  she  turned  again 
and  gazed  down  upon  him.  Her  cheeks  were  once  more 
flushed  and  her  dark  eyes  blazing. 

"It's  going  to  be  just  as  I  said!"  she  flung  at  him. 
"I'm  going  to  succeed  —  you're  going  to  fail!  You  just 
wait  and  see!" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          43 

She  turned  and  ran  swiftly  up  the  stairway  and  out 
of  sight.  Neither  of  them  had  been  aware  that  the  Duch- 
ess, a  drab  figure  merged  into  a  drab  background,  had 
regarded  them  fixedly  during  all  this  scene.  And  Larry 
was  still  unconscious  that  the  old  eyes  were  now  watch- 
ing him  with  their  deep-set,  expressionless  fixity. 

Motionless,  Larry  stood  gazing  at  where  Maggie  had 
been.  Within  him  was  tumult;  he  did  not  yet  understand 
the  significance  of  that  impulsive  kiss  .  .  .  He  began  to 
walk  the  floor,  his  mind  and  will  now  more  in  control. 
Yes,  he  was  going  to  go  straight;  he  was  going  to  make 
good,  and  make  good  in  a  big  way!  And  he  was  going  to 
make  Maggie  go  straight,  too.  He  'd  show  her!  It  was  n't 
going  to  be  easy,  but  he  had  his  big  plan  made,  and  he 
had  determination,  and  he  knew  he'd  win  in  the  end. 
Yes,  he'd  show  her!  .  .  . 

Up  before  the  mirror  Maggie  sat  looking  intently  at 
herself.  Part  of  her  consciousness  was  wondering  about 
that  kiss,  and  part  kept  fiercely  repeating  that  she  'd  show 
him  —  she  'd  show  him  —  she  'd  show  him !  .  .  . 

Looking  thus  into  their  futures  they  were  both  very  cer- 
tain of  themselves  and  of  the  roads  which  they  were  to 
travel. 

CHAPTER  VII 

LARRY  was  still  gazing  at  where  Maggie  had  stood,  flash- 
ing her  defiance  at  him,  when  Hunt  came  thumping  down 
the  stairway. 

"Hello,  young  fellow ;  what  you  been  doing  to  Maggie?  " 
demanded  the  painter. 

"Why?" 

"Her  door  was  open  when  I  came  by  and  I  called  to 
her.  She  did  n't  answer,  but,  oh,  what  a  look!  What 'sin 
the  air?" 

And  then  Hunt  noted  the  Duchess  apart  in  her  corner. 


44          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"  I  say,  Duchess  —  what  were  Larry  and  Maggie  rowing 
about?" 

"Grandmother!"  Larry  exclaimed  with  a  start.  "I'd 
forgotten  you  were  here !  You  must  have  heard  it  all  — 
go  ahead  and  tell  him." 

"Tell  him  yourself,"  returned  the  Duchess. 

Larry  and  Hunt  took  chairs,  and  Larry  gave  the  gist  of 
what  he  had  said  about  his  decision  to  Barney  and  Old 
Jimmie  and  Maggie.  The  Duchess,  still  motionless  at 
her  desk  as  she  had  been  all  during  Larry's  scene  with 
Old  Jimmie  and  Barney,  and  then  his  scene  with  Maggie, 
regarded  her  grandson  with  that  emotionless,  mummified 
face  in  which  only  the  red-margined  eyes  showed  life  or 
interest. 

"So  you're  going  to  go  straight,  eh?"  queried  Hunt. 
The  big  painter  sat  with  his  long  legs  sprawling  in  front 
of  him,  a  black  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  looked  at  Larry 
skeptically.  "You  certainly  did  hand  a  jolt  to  your  friends 
who'd  been  counting  on  you.  And  yet  you're  sore  be- 
cause they  were  sore  at  you  and  did  n't  believe  in  you." 

"Did  I  say  that  I  was  sore?"  queried  Larry. 

"No,  but  you're  acting  it.  And  you're  sore  at  Maggie 
because  she  did  n't  believe  that  you  could  make  good  or 
that  you'd  stick  it  out.  Well,  I  don't  believe  you  will 
either." 

"You're  a  great  painter,  Hunt,  and  a  great  cook  — 
but  I  don't  give  a  damn  what  you  believe." 

"Keep  your  shirt  on,  young  fellow,"  Hunt  responded, 
puffing  imperturbably.  "I  say  I  believe  you  won't  win 
out  —  but  that's  not  saying  I  don't  want  you  to  win  out. 
If  that's  what  you  want  to  do,  go  to  it,  and  may  luck  be 
with  you,  and  may  the  devil  stay  in  hell.  The  morals  of 
other  people  are  out  of  my  line  —  none  of  my  business. 
I  'm  a  painter,  and  it 's  my  business  to  paint  people  as  I 
find  them.  But  Maggie  certainly  did  put  her  finger  on 
the  tough  spot  in  your  proposition :  for  a  crook  to  find  a 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         45 

job  and  win  the  confidence  of  people.  It's  up  grade  all 
the  way,  and  it  takes  ten  men's  nerve  to  stick  it  out  to  the 
top.  Yep,  Maggie  was  sure  right!" 

And  then  the  Duchess  broke  her  accustomed  silence 
with  her  thin  croak: 

"Never  you  mind  Maggie!  She  thinks  she  knows 
everything,  but  she  does  n't  know  anything." 

Larry  looked  in  surprise  at  his  grandmother.  There  was 
a  flash  in  her  old  eyes;  but  the  next  moment  the  spark 
was  gone. 

"Sure  you're  up  against  it  —  but  I'll  be  rooting  for 
you."  Hunt  was  grinning.  "  But  say,  young  fellow,  what 
made  you  decide  to  vote  the  other  ticket?" 

Larry  was  trained  at  reading  faces;  and  in  the  rough- 
hewn,  grinning  features  of  Hunt  he  read  good-fellowship. 
Larry  swiftly  responded  in  kind,  for  from  the  moment  he 
had  pulled  the  mask  of  being  a  fool  from  the  painter  and 
shown  him  to  be  a  real  artist,  he  had  felt  drawn  toward 
this  impecunious  swashbuckler  of  the  arts.  So  he  now  re- 
peated the  business  motives  which  he  had  presented  to 
Barney  and  Old  Jimmie.  As  Larry  talked  he  became  more 
spontaneous,  and  after  a  time  he  was  telling  of  the  effect 
upon  him  of  seeing  various  shrewd  men  locked  up  and 
unexercised  in  prison.  And  presently  his  reminiscence 
settled  upon  one  prison  acquaintance :  a  man  past  middle 
age,  clever  in  his  generation,  who  had  already  done  some 
fifteen  years  of  a  long  sentence.  He  was,  said  Larry,  grim 
and  he  rarely  spoke;  but  a  close,  wordless  friendship  had 
developed  between  them.  Only  once,  in  an  unusually  re- 
laxed mood,  had  the  old  convict  spoken  of  himself,  but 
what  he  had  then  said  had  had  a  greater  part  in  rousing 
Larry  to  his  new  decision  than  the  words  of  any  other 
man. 

"It  was  a  queer  story  Joe  let  out,"  continued  Larry. 
"Before  he  was  sent  away  he  had  a  kid,  just  a  baby 
whose  mother  was  dead.  He  told  me  he  wanted  to  have 


46         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

his  kid  brought  up  without  ever  knowing  anything  about 
the  kind  of  people  he  knew  and  the  kind  of  life  he'd 
lived.  He  wanted  it  to  grow  up  among  decent  people.  He 
had  money  put  away  and  he  had  an  old  friend,  a  pal, 
that  he'd  trust  with  anything.  So  he  turned  over  his 
money  and  his  baby  to  his  friend,  and  gave  orders  that  the 
kid  was  to  be  brought  up  decent,  sent  to  school,  and  that 
the  kid  was  never  to  know  anything  about  Joe.  Of  course 
the  baby  was  too  young  then  ever  to  remember  him ;  and 
when  he  gets  out  he 's  going  to  keep  absolutely  clear  of  the 
kid's  life  —  he  wants  his  kid  to  have  the  best  possible 
chance." 

"What  is  his  whole  name,  and  what  was  he  sent  up 
for?"  queried  the  Duchess,  that  flickering  fire  of  interest 
once  more  in  her  old  eyes. 

"Joe  Ellison.  He  was  an  old-time  confidence  man. 
He  got  caught  in  a  jam  —  there  had  been  drinking  — 
there  was  some  shooting  —  and  he  had  attempted  man- 
slaughter tacked  on  to  the  charge  of  swindling.  But  Joe 
said  everybody  had  been  drinking  and  that  the  shooting 
was  accidental." 

"Joe  Ellison  —  I  knew  him,"  said  the  Duchess.  "He 
was  about  the  cleverest  man  of  his  day.  But  I  never 
knew  he  had  a  child.  Who  was  this  best  friend  of  his?" 

"Joe  Ellison  didn't  mention  his  name,"  answered 
Larry.  "You  see  Joe  spoke  of  his  story  only  once.  But 
he  then  said  that  he'd  had  letters  once  a  month  telling 
how  fine  the  kid  was  getting  on  —  till  three  or  four  years 
ago  when  he  got  word  that  his  friend  had  died.  The  way 
things  stand  now,  Joe  won't  know  how  to  find  the  kid 
when  he  gets  out  even  if  he  should  want  to  find  it  —  and 
he  would  n't  know  it  even  if  he  saw  it.  Up  in  Sing  Sing 
when  I  had  nothing  else  to  do,"  concluded  Larry,  "  I 
tell  you  I  thought  a  lot  about  that  situation  —  for  it 
certainly  is  some  situation:  Joe  Ellison  for  fifteen  years 
in  prison  with  just  one  big  idea  in  his  life,  the  idea  being 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         47 

the  one  thing  he  felt  he  was  really  doing  or  ever  could 
do,  his  very  life  built  on  that  one  idea:  that  outside, 
somewhere,  was  his  kid  growing  up  into  a  fine  young 
person  —  never  guessing  it  had  such  a  father  —  and  Joe 
never  intending  to  see  it  again  and  not  being  able  to 
know  it  if  he  ever  should  see  it.  I  tell  you,  after  learning 
Joe's  story,  it  made  me  feel  that  I  'd  had  enough  of  the 
old  life." 

Again  the  Duchess  spoke.  "  Did  Joe  ever  mention  its 
name?" 

"  No,  he  just  spoke  of  it  as  4  his  kid.' " 

Larry  was  quiet  a  moment.  "You  see,"  he  added,  "I 
want  to  get  settled  before  Joe  comes  out  —  his  time's 
up  in  a  few  months  —  so  that  I  can  give  him  some  sort 
of  place  near  me.  He's  all  right,  Joe  is;  but  he's  too 
old  to  have  any  show  at  a  fresh  start  if  he  tries  to  make 
it  all  on  his  own." 

"Larry,  you  haven't  got  such  a  tough  piece  of  old 
brass  for  a  heart  yourself,"  commented  Hunt.  "What 
are  your  own  plans?" 

"  I  know  I  've  got  the  makings  of  a  real  business  man  — 
I've  already  told  you  that,"  said  Larry  confidently.  He 
had  thought  this  out  carefully  during  his  days  as  a  coal- 
passer  and  his  long  nights  upon  the  eighteen-inch  bunk 
in  his  cell.  "I've  got  a  lot  of  the  finishing  touches;  I 
know  the  high  spots.  What  I  need  are  the  rudiments  — 
the  fundamentals  —  connecting  links.  You  see,  I  had 
part  of  a  business  college  training  a  long  time  before  I 
went  to  work  in  a  broker's  office,  stenography  and  type- 
writing; I've  been  a  secretary  in  the  warden's  office  the 
last  few  months  and  I've  brushed  up  on  the  old  stuff 
and  I'm  pretty  good.  That  ought  to  land  me  a  job. 
Then  I  'm  going  to  study  nights.  Of  course,  I  'd  get  on 
faster  if  I  could  have  private  lessons  with  one  of  the  head 
men  of  one  of  these  real  business  schools.  I'd  mop  up 
this  stuff  about  organization  and  management  mighty 


48          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

quick,  for  that  business  stuff  comes  natural  to  me.  A 
bit  of  that  sort  of  going  to  school  would  connect  up  and 
give  a  working  unity  to  what  I  already  know.  But  then 
I  '11  find  a  job  and  work  the  thing  out  some  way.  I  'm  in 
this  to  win  out,  and  win  out  big!" 

Once  more  the  rarely  heard  voice  of  the  Duchess 
sounded,  and  though  thin  it  had  a  positive  quality: 

"You're  not  going  to  take  any  job  at  first.  First 
thing,  you  're  going  to  give  all  your  time  to  those  private 
lessons." 

Larry  gazed  at  the  Duchess,  surprised  by  the  tone  in 
which  she  spoke.  "  But,  grandmother,  these  lessons  cost 
money.  And  I  did  n't  have  a  thin  dime  left  when  my 
lawyers  finished  with  me." 

"I've  got  plenty  of  money  —  and  it's  yours.  And  the 
money  you  get  from  me  will  be  honest  money,  too;  the 
interest  on  loans  made  in  my  pawnshop  is  honest  all 
right.  It'll  be  better,  anyhow,  for  you  to  be  out  in  the 
world  a  few  days,  getting  used  to  it,  before  you  take  a 
job." 

"Why,  grandmother!" 

The  explanation  seemed  bald  and  inadequate,  but 
Larry  did  not  know  what  else  to  say,  he  was  so  taken 
aback.  The  Duchess,  as  far  as  he  had  been  able  to  see, 
had  never  shown  much  interest  in  him.  And  now,  unless 
he  was  mistaken,  there  was  something  very  much  like 
emotion  quavering  in  her  thin  voice  and  shining  in  her 
old  eyes. 

"I  don't  interfere  with  what  people  want  to  do,"  she 
continued  —  "but,  Larry,  I'm  glad  you've  decided  to 
go  straight." 

And  then  the  Duchess  went  on  to  make  the  longest 
speech  that  any  living  person  had  ever  heard  issue  from 
her  lips,  and  to  reveal  more  than  had  yet  been  heard 
of  that  unmysterious  mystery  which  lived  within  her 
shriveled,  misshapen  figure: 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         49 

"That's  what  made  me  interested  in  Joe  Ellison's 
story  —  his  wanting  to  get  his  child  clear  of  the  life  he 
was  living;  though  I  did  n't  know  he  had  any  such  ideas 
till  you  told  me.  Larry,  I  could  n't  get  out  of  this  life 
myself;  I  was  part  of  it,  I  belonged  to  it.  But  I  felt  the 
same  as  Joe  Ellison,  and  over  forty  years  ago  I  got  your 
mother  out  of  it,  and  your  mother  never  came  back  to 
it.  I  did  that  much.  After  she  died  it  made  me  sick 
when  you,  all  I've  got  left,  began  to  go  crooked.  But  I 
had  no  control  over  you ;  I  could  n't  do  anything.  So  I  'm 
glad  that  at  last  you  're  going  to  go  straight.  I  'm  glad, 
Larry!" 

The  emotion  that  had  given  her  voice  a  strange  and 
increasing  vibrance,  was  suddenly  brought  under  control 
or  snuffed  out ;  and  she  added  in  her  usual  thin,  mechan- 
ical tone:  "The  money  will  be  ready  for  you  in  the 
morning." 

Startled  and  embarrassed  by  this  outbreak  of  things 
long  hidden  beneath  the  dust  in  the  secret  chambers  of 
her  being,  and  wishing  to  avoid  the  further  embarrass- 
ment of  thanks,  the  Duchess  turned  quickly  and  awk- 
wardly back  to  her  desk,  and  her  bent  old  body  became 
fixed  above  her  figures.  In  a  moment  the  ever-alert  Hunt 
had  out  the  little  block  of  drawing-paper  he  always 
carried  in  a  pocket,  and  with  swift,  eager  strokes  he  was 
sketching  the  outline  of  that  bent,  shrunken  shape  that 
had  subsided  so  swiftly  from  emotion  to  the  common- 
place. 

Larry  gazed  at  the  Duchess  in  silent  bewilderment.  He 
had  thought  he  had  known  his  grandmother.  He  was 
now  realizing  that  perhaps  he  did  not  know  his  grand- 
mother at  all. 


50         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THAT  night  Larry  slept  on  a  cot  set  up  in  Hunt's  studio. 
Hunt  had  made  the  proposition  that  Larry  consider  the 
studio  his  headquarters  for  the  present,  and  Larry  had 
accepted.  Of  course  the  cot  and  the  rough-and-ready 
furnishings  of  the  studio  were  grotesquely  short  of  the 
luxury  of  those  sunny  days  when  Larry  had  had  plenty 
of  easy  money  and  had  been  free  to  gratify  his  taste  for 
the  best  of  everything;  but  the  quarters  were  infinitely 
more  luxurious  and  comfortable  than  his  more  recent 
three-by-seven  room  at  Sing  Sing  with  its  damp  and 
chilly  stone  walls. 

There  were  many  reasons  why  Larry  was  appealed  to 
by  the  idea  of  making  his  home  for  the  present  in  this 
old  house  in  this  dingy,  unexciting,  unromantic  street. 
He  was  drawn  toward  this  bluff,  outspoken,  autocratic 
painter,  and  was  curious  about  him.  And  then  the  way 
his  grandmother  had  spoken,  the  gleam  in  her  old  eyes, 
had  stirred  an  affection  for  her  that  he  had  never  before 
felt.  And  then  there  was  Maggie,  with  her  startlingly 
new  dusky  beauty,  her  admiration  of  him  that  had  so 
swiftly  altered  to  defiance,  her  challenge  to  a  duel  of 
purposes. 

Yes,  for  the  present,  this  dingy  old  house  in  this  dingy 
old  street  was  just  the  place  he  preferred  to  be. 

It  was  not  the  part  of  wisdom  to  start  forth  on  the 
beginning  of  his  new  career  in  his  shapeless  prison  shoddy ; 
so  the  next  day  Larry  pottered  about  the  studio,  acting 
as  maid-of-all-work,  while  the  clothes  in  his  trunk  which 
had  been  stored  with  the  Duchess  were  being  sponged 
and  pressed  by  the  little  tailor  down  the  street,  and  while 
a  laundress,  driven  by  the  Duchess,  was  preparing  the 
rest  of  his  outfit  for  his  d6but.  In  his  capacity  of  maid, 
with  a  basket  on  his  arm,  he  went  out  into  the  little 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         51 

street,  where  in  his  shabby  clothes  he  was  recognized  by 
none  and  leaned  for  a  time  against  the  mongrel,  under- 
fed tree  that  was  hesitatingly  greeting  the  spring  with  a 
few  half-hearted  leaves.  He  bathed  himself  in  the  warm 
sun  which  seemed  over-glorious  for  so  mean  a  street;  he 
filled  his  lungs  with  the  tangy  May  air ;  yes,  it  was  won- 
derful to  be  free  again ! 

Then  he  strolled  about  the  street  on  his  business  of 
marketing.  It  amused  him  to  be  buying  three  pounds  of 
potatoes  and  a  pound  of  chopped  meat  and  a  package  of 
macaroni,  and  to  be  counting  Hunt's  pennies  —  remem- 
bering those  days  when  he  had  been  a  personage  to  head 
waiters,  and  had  had  his  table  reserved,  and  with  a  care- 
less Midas's  gesture  had  left  a  dollar,  or  five,  or  twenty, 
for  the  waiter's  tip. 

When  he  climbed  back  into  the  studio  he  watched 
Hunt  slashing  about  with  his  paint.  Hunt  growled  and 
roared  at  him,  and  kidded  him;  and  Larry  came  back  at 
him  with  the  same  kind  of  verbal  horseplay,  after  the 
fashion  of  men.  Presently  a  relaxation,  if  not  actual 
friendship,  began  to  develop  in  their  attitude  toward 
each  other. 

"Tell  you  what,"  Larry  remarked,  standing  with  legs 
wide  apart  gazing  at  the  picture  of  the  Italian  mother 
throned  on  the  curb  nursing  her  child,  "if  I  were  dolled 
up  all  proper,  I  bet  I  could  take  some  of  this  stuff  out 
and  sell  it  for  real  dough." 

"Huh,  nobody  wants  that  stuff!"  snorted  Hunt. 
"It's  too  good.  Sell  it!  You're  off  your  bean,  young 
fellow!" 

"I  can  sell  anything,  my  bucko,"  Larry  returned 
evenly.  "All  I  need  is  a  man  who  has  plenty  of  money 
and  a  moderate  willingness  to  listen.  I've  sold  pictures 
of  an  oil  derrick  on  a  stock  certificate,  exact  value  nothing 
at  all,  for  a  masterpiece's  price  —  so  I  guess  I  could  sell 
a  real  picture." 


52          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Aw,  you  shut  up!" 

"The  real  trouble  with  you,"  commented  Larry,  "is 
that,  though  you  can  paint,  as  a  business  man,  as  a  pro- 
moter of  your  own  stock,  the  suckling  infant  in  that 
picture  is  a  J.  Pierpont  Morgan  of  multiplied  capacity 
compared  to  —  " 

"Stop  making  that  noise  like  a  damned  fool!" 

This  amiable  pastime  of  throwing  stones  at  each  other 
was  just  then  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Maggie  for 
an  appointed  sitting,  before  going  to  her  business  of 
carrying  a  tray  of  cigarettes  about  the  Ritzmore.  She 
gave  Hunt  a  pleasant  "good-morning,"  the  pleasantness 
purposely  stressed  in  order  to  make  more  emphatic  her 
curt  nod  to  Larry  and  the  cold  hostility  of  her  eye.  Dur- 
ing the  hour  she  posed,  Larry,  moving  leisurely  about 
his  kitchen  duties,  addressed  her  several  times,  but  no 
remark  got  a  word  from  her  in  response.  He  took  his 
rebuffs  smilingly,  which  irritated  her  all  the  more. 

"Maggie,  I'll  get  my  real  clothes  late  this  afternoon; 
how  about  my  dropping  in  at  the  Ritzmore  for  a  cup  of 
tea,  and  letting  me  buy  some  cigarettes  and  talk  to  you 
when  you're  not  busy?"  he  inquired  when  Hunt  had 
finished  with  her. 

"You  may  buy  cigarettes,  but  you'll  get  no  talk!" 
she  snapped,  and  head  high  and  dark  eyes  flashing  con- 
tempt, she  swept  past  him. 

Hunt  watched  her  out.  As  the  door  slammed  behind 
her,  he  remarked  dryly,  his  eyes  searching  Larry  keenly: 

"Our  young  queen  doesn't  seem  wildly  enthusiastic 
about  you  or  your  programme." 

"She  certainly  is  not." 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you,  young  fellow.  That's  a 
common  trait  of  her  whole  tribe;  women  simply  cannot 
believe  in  a  man!" 

There  was  an  emphasis  and  a  cynicism  in  this  last  re- 
mark which  caused  Larry  to  regard  the  painter  search- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         53 

ingly.  "You  seem  to  know  what  it  is.  Don't  mean  to 
butt  in,  Hunt,  if  there  are  any  trespassing  signs  up  —  but 
there's  a  woman  in  your  case?" 

"Of  course  there  is  —  there's  always  a  woman;  that's 
another  reason  I  'm  here,"  Hunt  answered.  "She  did  n't 
believe  in  me  —  did  n't  believe  I  could  paint  —  did  n't  be- 
lieve in  the  things  I  wanted  to  do  —  so  I  just  picked  up 
my  playthings  and  walked  out  of  her  existence." 

"Wife?"  queried  Larry. 

"Thank  God,  no!"  exclaimed  Hunt  emphatically. 
"No —  'I  thank  whatever  gods  there  be,  I  am  the  cap- 
tain of  my  soul!'  Oh,  she's  all  right  —  altogether  too 
good  for  me,"  he  added.  "Here,  try  this  tobacco." 

Larry  picked  up  the  pouch  flung  him  and  accepted  with- 
out remark  this  being  abruptly  shunted  off  the  track. 
But  he  surmised  that  this  woman  in  the  background  of 
Hunt's  life  meant  a  great  deal  more  to  the  painter  than 
Hunt  tried  to  indicate  by  his  attempt  to  dismiss  her 
casually  —  and  Larry  wondered  what  kind  of  woman  she 
was,  and  what  the  story  had  been. 

The  following  day,  clean-shaven  and  in  his  freshened 
clothes  —  they  were  smart  and  well-tailored,  though  sober 
indeed  compared  with  Barney's,  and  two  years  behind  the 
style  of  which  Barney's  were  the  extreme  expression  — 
Larry  passed  Maggie  on  the  stairway  with  a  smile,  who 
gave  him  no  smile  in  return,  and  started  forth  upon  his 
quest.  He  was  well-dressed,  he  had  money  in  his  pockets, 
he  had  a  plan,  and  the  air  of  freedom  of  a  new  life  was 
sweet  in  his  nostrils.  He  was  going  to  succeed! 

It  was  easy  enough,  with  his  mind  alert  for  what  he 
wanted,  and  with  the  Duchess's  liberal  allowance  to  pay 
for  what  he  wanted,  for  Larry  to  find  in  this  city  of  ten 
thousand  institutes  teaching  business  methods,  the  par- 
ticular article  which  suited  his  especial  needs.  He  found 
this  article  in  an  institute  whose  black-faced  headline 
in  its  advertisements  was,  "We  Make  You  a  #50,000 


54          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Executive";  and  the  article  which  he  found,  by  payment 
of  a  special  fee,  was  an  old  man  who  had  been  the  man- 
ager of  a  big  brokerage  concern  until  his  growing  addiction 
to  drink  and  later  to  drugs  had  rendered  him  undepend- 
able.  But  old  Bronson  certainly  did  know  the  funda- 
mentals and  intricacies  of  the  kind  of  big  business  which 
is  straight,  and  it  was  a  delight  to  him  to  pour  out  his 
knowledge  to  a  keen  intelligence. 

Larry,  in  his  own  words,  simply  "mopped  it  up." 
His  experience  had  been  so  wide  and  varied  that  he  now 
had  only  to  be  shown  a  bone  of  fact  and  almost  instantly 
he  visioned  in  their  completeness  unextinct  ichthyosauri 
of  business.  By  day  he  fairly  consumed  old  Bronson;  he 
read  dry  books  far  into  the  night.  Thus  he  rapidly  filled 
the  holes  in  the  walls  of  his  knowledge,  and  strengthened 
its  rather  sketchy  foundation.  Of  course  he  realized  that 
what  he  was  learning  was  in  a  sense  academic;  it  had  to 
be  tested  and  developed  and  made  flexible  by  experience; 
but  then  much  of  it  became  instantly  a  living  enlarge- 
ment of  the  things  of  which  he  was  already  a  master. 

Old  Bronson  was  delighted ;  he  had  never  had  so  apt  a 
pupil.  "  In  less  than  no  time  you  '11  be  the  real  head  of  that 
house  you're  with!"  he  proudly  declared.  Larry  had  not 
seen  it  as  needful  to  tell  the  truth  about  himself ;  his  casual 
story  was  that  he  was  there  putting  to  use  a  month's 
holiday  granted  him  by  a  mythical  firm  in  Chicago. 

The  Duchess's  statement  that  it  would  be  best  for  him 
not  to  seek  work  at  once  was  founded  on  wisdom.  Larry 
was  busy  and  interested,  but  he  did  not  yet  have  to  face 
the  constant  suspicion  and  hostility  which  are  usually 
the  disheartening  lot  of  the  ex-convict  who  asks  for  a 
position.  In  this  period  his  confidence  and  his  purpose 
expanded  with  new  vitality. 

As  the  busy  days  passed  down  in  the  little  street,  the 
bantering  fellowship  between  Larry  and  Hunt  took  deeper 
root.  The  Duchess  did  not  again  show  any  of  the  emo- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          55 

tion  which  had  gleamed  in  her  briefly  when  Larry  had  an- 
nounced his  new  plan;  but  bent  and  silent  went  like  an 
oddly  revivified  mummy  about  her  affairs.  And  during 
these  days  he  did  not  again  see  Barney  or  Old  Jimmie;  he 
had  learned  that  on  the  day  following  his  conference  with 
them  they  had  gone  to  Chicago  on  a  very  private  matter 
of  business. 

He  saw  Maggie  daily,  but  she  maintained  the  same 
attitude  toward  him.  He  was  now  conscious  that  he  was 
in  love.  He  saw  splendid  qualities  in  her,  most  of  them 
latent.  Maggie  had  determination,  high  spirits,  clever- 
ness, courage,  and  capacity  for  sympathy  and  affection; 
she  had  head,  heart,  and  beauty,  the  makings  of  an  un- 
usual woman,  if  only  she  could  be  swung  into  a  different 
attitude  of  mind.  But  he  realized  that  there  was  small 
chance  indeed  of  his  working  any  alteration  in  her,  much 
less  winning  her  admitted  regard,  until  he  was  definitely  a 
success,  until  he  had  definitely  proven  himself  right.  So 
he  took  her  rebuffs  with  a  smile,  and  waited  his  time. 

He  understood  her  point  of  view,  and  sympathized  with 
her;  for  her  point  of  view  had  once  been  his  own.  With  a 
growing  understanding  he  saw  her  as  the  natural  product 
of  such  a  fathership  as  Old  Jimmie's,  and  of  the  cynical 
environment  which  Old  Jimmie  had  given  her  in  which 
crime  was  a  matter  of  course.  In  this  connection  one 
matter  that  had  previously  interested  him  began  to  en- 
gage his  speculation  more  and  more.  All  her  life,  until  re- 
cently, Old  Jimmie  had  apparently  shown  little  more  con- 
cern over  Maggie  than  one  shows  over  a  piece  of  baggage 
which  is  stored  in  this  and  that  warehouse  —  and  so 
valueless  a  piece  of  baggage  in  Old  Jimmie's  case  that  it 
had  always  been  stored  in  the  worst  warehouses.  What 
was  behind  Old  Jimmie's  new  interest  in  his  daughter? 

Old  Jimmie  had  in  late  months  awakened  to  the  value 
to  him  of  Maggie  as  a  business  proposition  —  that  was 
Larry's  answer  to  his  own  question. 


56          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

As  for  Maggie,  during  these  days,  the  mere  fact  that 
Larry  smiled  at  her  and  refused  to  get  angry  angered  her 
all  the  more.  Her  anger  at  him,  the  manner  in  which  he 
had  refused  her  offered  and  long-dreamed-of  partnership, 
would  not  permit  her  pride  and  self-confidence  to  consider 
any  justification  for  him  to  enter  her  mind  and  argue  in 
his  behalf.  The  great  dream  she  had  nourished  had  been 
destroyed.  And,  moreover,  he  had  proclaimed  himself  a 
fool. 

Yes,  despite  him  and  all  he  could  do,  she  was  going  to  go 
the  brilliant,  exciting  way  she  had  planned! 

In  fairness  to  Maggie  it  must  be  remembered  that  de- 
spite her  assumed  maturity  and  self-confident  wisdom, 
she  really  was  only  eighteen,  and  perhaps  did  not  yet 
fully  know  herself,  and  had  all  the  world  yet  to  learn. 
And  it  must  be  remembered  that  she  believed  herself 
entirely  in  the  right.  This  was  a  world  where  strength  and 
cunning  were  the  qualities  that  counted,  and  every  one 
was  trying  to  outwit  his  neighbor;  and  all  who  acted 
otherwise  were  either  weak-witted  fools  or  else  pretenders 
who  saw  in  their  hypocrisy  the  keenest  game  of  all. 
Living  under  the  influence  of  Old  Jimmie,  and  later  of 
Barney,  and  of  the  environment  in  which  she  had  been 
bred,  these  beliefs  had  come  to  be  her  religion.  She  was 
thoroughly  orthodox,  and  had  the  defensive  and  aggres- 
sive fervor  which  is  the  temper  of  militant  orthodoxy. 

And  so  more  keenly  than  ever,  because  she  was  more 
determined  than  ever,  Maggie  studied  the  groups  of  well- 
dressed  men  and  women  who  ate  and  danced  at  the  Ritz- 
more,  among  whom  she  circulated  in  her  short,  smart 
skirt  with  her  cigarette  tray  swung  from  her  neck  by  a 
broad  purple  ribbon.  Particularly  she  liked  the  after- 
theater  crowd,  for  then  only  evening  wear  was  permitted 
in  the  supper-room  and  the  people  were  at  their  liveliest. 
She  liked  to  watch  the  famous  professional  couple  do  their 
specialties  on  the  glistening  central  space  with  the  agile 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         57 

spot-lights  always  bathing  them;  and  then  watch  the 
smartly  dressed  guests  take  the  floor  with  the  less  prac- 
ticed and  more  humble  steps.  Sometime  soon  she  was 
going  to  have  clothes  as  smart  as  any  of  these.  Soon  she 
would  be  one  of  these  brilliant  people,  and  have  a  life  more 
exciting  than  any.  Very  soon  —  for  her  apprenticeship 
was  almost  over ! 

Barney  Palmer  had  these  last  few  months,  since  he  had 
discovered  in  Maggie  a  star  who  only  needed  coaching 
and  then  an  opportunity,  made  it  a  practice  to  come  for 
Maggie  occasionally  when  one  o'clock,  New  York's  curfew 
hour,  dispersed  the  pleasure-seekers  and  ended  Maggie's 
day  of  work,  or  rather  her  day  of  intensive  schooling  for 
her  greater  life.  On  the  night  of  his  return  from  Chicago, 
which  was  a  week  after  his  break  with  Larry,  Barney  re- 
ported to  take  Maggie  home.  He  was  in  swagger  evening 
clothes  and  he  asked  the  starter  for  a  taxi;  with  an  al- 
most lordly  air  and  for  the  service  of  a  white-gloved 
gesture  to  a  chauffeur,  he  carelessly  handed  the  starter 
(who,  by  the  way,  was  a  richer  man  than  Barney)  a  crisp 
dollar  bill.  Barney  was  trying  to  make  his  best  impression. 

"Seen  much  of  that  stiff,  Larry  Brainard?"  he  asked 
when  the  cab  was  headed  southward. 

His  tone,  which  he  tried  to  make  merely  contemptuous, 
conveyed  the  deep  wrath  which  he  still  felt  whenever  his 
mind  reverted  to  Larry.  Maggie  reserved  to  herself  the 
privilege  of  thinking  of  Larry  just  as  she  pleased;  but 
being  the  kind  of  girl  she  was,  she  could  not  help  being 
also  a  bit  of  a  coquette. 

"I  did  n't  think  he  was  such  a  stiff,  Barney,"  she  said 
in  an  irritatingly  pleasant  voice.  "His  prison  clothes 
were  bad,  but  now  that  he's  dressed  right  I  think  he  looks 
awfully  nice.  You  and  father  have  always  said  he  looked 
the  perfect  swell." 

"See  here  —  has  he  been  talking  to  you?"  Barney  de- 
manded savagely. 


58         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"A  little.  Yes,  several  times.  In  fact  he  said  quite  a  lot 
that  night  after  you'd  gone." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  he  was  not  only  going  to  go  straight,  but"  — 
in  her  provocative,  teasing  voice — "he  was  going  to 
make  me  go  straight." 

"What's  that?  Tell  me  just  what  he  said!"  demanded 
Barney,  his  wrath  suddenly  flaring  into  furious  jealousy. 

Maggie  told  him  in  detail;  in  fact  told  him  the  scene 
in  greater  detail  and  with  a  greater  length  than  had  been 
the  actuality.  Also  she  censored  the  scene  by  omitting 
her  own  opposition  to  Larry's  determination.  She  en- 
joyed playing  with  Barney,  the  exercise  of  the  power  she 
had  over  Barney's  passions. 

"And  you  stood  for  all  that!"  cried  Barney.  By  this 
time  they  were  far  down  town.  ' '  You  listen  to  me,  Maggie : 
What  I  said  to  Larry's  face  that  night  at  the  Duchess's 
still  stands.  I  think  he's  yellow  and  has  turned  against 
his  old  pals.  I  tell  you  what,  I  'm  going  to  watch  that  guy ! " 

"You  won't  find  it  hard  to  watch  him,  Barney.  Larry 
never  hides  himself." 

"Oh,  I'll  watch  him  all  right!  And  you,  Maggie  — 
why,  you  talk  as  though  you  liked  that  line  of  talk  he  gave 
you!" 

"Larry  talks  well  —  and  I  did  like  it,  rather." 

"See  here!  You're  not  falling  for  him?  You're  not 
going  to  let  him  make  you  go  straight?" 

Maggie  certainly  had  no  intention  of  letting  any  such 
thing  come  to  pass;  but  she  could  not  check  her  innocent- 
toned  baiting. 

"How  do  I  know  what  he'll  make  me  do?  He's  clever 
and  handsome,  you  know." 

Barney  gripped  her  shoulder  fiercely.  "Maggie  —  are 
you  falling  in  love  with  him?" 

"How  do  I  know,  when  — " 

"Maggie!"    He  gripped  her  more  tightly,  and  his 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          59 

phrases  tumbled  out  fiercely,  rapidly.  "You  're  not  going 
to  do  anything  of  the  sort !  If  he  goes  straight  —  if  you  go 
straight  —  how  can  he  ever  help  you?  He  can't!  And 
it  will  be  your  finish  —  the  finish  of  all  the  big  things 
we've  talked  about.  Listen:  since  Larry  threw  us  down, 
I  Ve  taken  hold  of  things  and  will  soon  be  ready  to  spring 
something  big.  Just  a  few  days  now  and  you  '11  be  out  of 
that  dirty  street,  and  you'll  be  in  swell  clothes  doing 
swell  work  —  and  it  will  mean  the  best  restaurants, 
theaters,  swell  times!" 

The  car  had  turned  into  the  narrow,  cobbled  street  and 
had  paused  before  the  Duchess's.  Suddenly  Barney  caught 
her  into  his  arms. 

"And,  Maggie,  you're  going  to  be  mine!  We'll  have  a 
nifty  little  place,  all  right!  You  know  I'm  dippy  about 
you.  .  .  .  And,  Maggie,  I  don't  even  want  you  to  go  back 
in  there  where  Larry  Brainard  is.  Let's  drive  back  up- 
town and  start  in  together  now!  To-night!" 

It  was  not  the  fact  that  he  had  not  suggested  marriage 
which  stirred  Maggie:  men  and  women  in  Barney's  class 
lived  together,  and  sometimes  they  were  married  and 
sometimes  they  were  not.  It  was  something  else,  some- 
thing of  which  she  was  not  definitely  conscious:  but  she 
felt  no  such  momentary  thrill,  no  momentary,  dazing  sur- 
render, as  she  had  felt  the  night  when  Larry  had  similarly 
held  her. 

"Stop  that,  Barney!"  she  gasped.  "Let  me  go!"  She 
struggled  fiercely,  and  then  tore  herself  free. 

"What's  wrong  with  you?"  panted  Barney.  "You're 
mine,  ain't  you?" 

"You  leave  me  alone!  I'm  going  to  get  out!" 

She  had  the  door  open,  and  was  stepping  out  when  he 
caught  her  sleeve.  But  she  pulled  so  determinedly  that 
to  have  held  her  would  have  meant  nothing  better  than 
ripping  the  sleeve  out  of  her  coat.  So  he  freed  her  and 
followed  her  across  the  sidewalk  to  the  Duchess's  door. 


60         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"What's  the  idea?"  he  demanded,  choking  with  fierce 
jealousy.  "  It 's  not  Larry,  after  all?  You  're  not  going  to 
let  him  make  you  go  straight?" 

She  had  recovered  her  poise,  and  she  replied  banter- 
ingly: 

"As  I  said,  how  can  I  tell  what  he's  going  to  make  me 
do?" 

She  heard  him  draw  a  deep,  quivering  breath  between 
clenched  teeth ;  but  she  could  not  see  how  his  figure  tensed 
and  how  his  face  twisted  into  a  glower. 

"Get  this,  Maggie:  Larry  Brainard  is  never  going  to 
be  able  to  make  you  do  anything.  You  get  that?" 

"Yes,  I  get  it,  Barney;  good-night,"  she  said  lightly. 

And  Maggie  slipped  through  the  door  and  left  Barney 
trembling  in  the  little  street. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MAGGIE,  as  she  mounted  to  her  room,  was  hardly  con- 
scious of  the  ring  of  menace  in  Barney's  voice;  but  once 
she  was  in  bed,  his  tone  and  his  words  came  back  to  her 
and  stirred  a  strange  uneasiness  in  her  mind.  Barney  was 
angry;  Barney  was  cunning;  Barney  would  stop  at  noth- 
ing to  gain  his  ends.  What  might  be  behind  his  threaten- 
ing words? 

The  next  morning  as  she  was  coming  in  with  milk  for 
her  breakfast  coffee,  she  met  Larry  in  the  Duchess's  room 
behind  the  pawnshop.  He  smilingly  planted  himself 
squarely  in  her  way. 

"See  here,  Maggie  —  are  n't  you  ever  going  to  speak  to 
a  fellow?" 

Something  within  her  surged  up  impelling  her  to  tell 
him  of  Barney's  savage  yet  unformulated  threat.  The 
warning  got  as  far  as  her  tongue,  and  there  halted,  strug- 
gling. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         61 

Her  strange,  fixed  look  startled  Larry.  "Why,  what's 
the  matter,  Maggie?"  he  exclaimed. 

But  her  pride,  her  settled  determination  to  unbend  to 
him  in  no  way  and  to  have  no  dealings  with  him,  were 
stronger  than  her  impulse;  and  the  struggling  warning  re- 
mained unuttered. 

"Nothing's  the  matter,"  she  said,  and  brushed  past 
him  and  hurried  up  the  stairway. 

At  times  during  the  day,  while  tutoring  with  Mr.  Bron- 
son,  Larry  thought  of  Maggie's  strange  look.  And  his 
mind  was  upon  it  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  entered 
the  little  street.  But  as  he  neared  his  grandmother's 
house  all  such  thought  was  banished  by  Detective  Gave- 
gan  of  the  Central  Office  stepping  from  the  pawnshop  and 
blocking  the  door  with  his  big  figure.  There  was  grim, 
triumphant  purpose  on  the  hard  features  of  Ga vegan, 
conceited  by  nature  and  trained  to  harsh  dominance  by 
long  rule  as  a  petty  autocrat. 

"Hello,  Gavegan,"  Larry  greeted  him  pleasantly. 
"Gee,  but  you  look  tickled!  Did  the  Duchess  give  you  a 
bigger  loan  than  you  expected  on  the  Carnegie  medal  you 
just  hocked?" 

"You  '11  soon  be  cuttin'  out  your  line  of  comedy."  Gave- 
gan slipped  his  left  arm  through  Larry's  right.  "You're 
comin'  along  with  me,  and  you  'd  better  come  quiet." 

Larry  stiffened .   ' '  Come  where  ? ' ' 

4  4  Headquarters. ' ' 

"I  have  n't  done  a  thing,  Gavegan,  and  you  know  it! 
What  do  you  want  me  for?" 

"Me  and  the  Chief  had  a  little  talk  about  you,"  leered 
Gavegan.  "And  now  the  Chief  wants  to  have  a  little 
personal  talk  with  you.  He  asked  me  to  round  you  up  and 
bring  you  in." 

"  I  've  done  nothing,  and  I  '11  not  go ! "  Larry  cried  hotly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will ! "  Gavegan  withdrew  his  right  hand 
from  his  coat  pocket  where  it  had  been  resting  in  readiness. 


62         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

In  the  hand,  its  thong  about  his  wrist,  was  a  short  leather- 
covered  object  filled  with  lead.  "I  Ve  got  my  orders,  and 
you'll  come  peaceably,  or —  But  I'd  just  as  soon  you'd 
resist,  for  I  owe  you  something  for  the  punch  you  slipped 
over  on  me  the  other  night." 

Larry,  taut  with  the  desire  to  strike,  gazed  for  a  mo- 
ment into  the  glowering  face  of  the  detective.  Gavegan, 
gripping  his  right  arm,  with  that  bone-crushing  slug-shot 
itching  for  instant  use,  was  apparently  master  in  the  pres- 
ent circumstances.  But  before  Larry's  quick  mind  had 
decided  upon  a  course,  the  door  of  the  pawnshop  opened 
and  closed,  and  a  voice  said  sharply: 

"Nothing  doing  on  that  rough  stuff,  Gavegan!"  The 
speaker  was  now  on  Larry's  left  side,  a  heavy-faced  man 
in  a  black  derby.  "Larry,  better  be  a  nice  boy  and  come 
with  us." 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Casey!"  said  Larry.  "If  you  say  I've 
got  to  go,  I'll  go  —  for  you're  one  white  copper,  even  if 
you  do  have  Gavegan  for  a  partner.  Come  on.  What  're 
we  standing  here  for?" 

The  trio  made  their  way  out  of  the  narrow  street,  and 
after  some  fifteen  minutes  of  walking  through  the  twisting 
byways  of  that  part  of  the  city,  they  passed  through  the 
granite  doorway  at  Headquarters  and  entered  the  office 
of  Deputy  Commissioner  Barlow,  Chief  of  the  Detective 
Bureau.  Barlow  was  talking  over  the  telephone  in  a 
growling  staccato,  and  the  three  men  sat  down.  After 
a  moment  Barlow  banged  the  receiver  upon  its  hook,  and 
turned  upon  them.  He  had  a  clenched,  driving  face,  with 
small,  commanding  eyes.  It  was  his  boast  that  he  got  re- 
sults, that  it  was  his  policy  to  make  people  do  what  you 
told  'em.  He  had  no  other  code. 

"Well,  Brainard,"  he  snapped,  "here  you  are  again. 
What  you  up  to  now?" 

"Going  to  try  the  straight  game,  Chief,"  returned 
Larry. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        .  63 

"Don't  try  to  put  that  old  bunk  over  on  me!" 

"It's  not  bunk,  Chief.   It's  the  real  stuff." 

"Cut  it  out,  I  say!  Don't  you  suppose  I  had  a  clever 
bird  like  you  picked  up  the  minute  you  landed  in  the  city, 
and  have  had  you  covered  ever  since?  And  if  you  are  go- 
ing straight,  what  about  the  session  you  had  with  Barney 
Palmer  and  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle  the  very  night  you  blew 
in?  And  I  'm  on  to  this  bluff  of  your  going  to  that  business 
institute.  So  come  across,  Brainard !  I  Ve  got  your  every 
move  covered!" 

"  I've  already  come  across,  Chief,"  replied  Larry,  trying 
to  keep  his  temper  in  the  face  of  the  other's  bullying 
manner.  "I  told  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  that  I  was 
through  with  the  old  game,  and  through  with  them  as  pals 
at  the  old  game  —  that 's  all  there  was  to  that  meeting. 
I  'm  going  to  that  business  institute  for  the  same  reason 
that  every  other  person  goes  there  —  to  learn.  That's 
all  there  is  to  the  whole  business,  Chief:  I'm  going  to 
go  straight." 

Chief  Barlow,  hunched  forward,  his  undershot  jaw 
clenched  on  a  cigar  stub,  regarded  Larry  steadily  with  his 
beady,  autocratic  eyes.  Barlow  was  trained  to  penetrate 
to  the  inside  of  men's  minds,  and  he  recognized  that  Larry 
was  in  earnest. 

"You  mean  you  think  you  are  going  to  go  straight," 
Barlow  remarked  slowly  and  meaningly. 

"I  know  I  am  going  to  go  straight,"  Larry  returned 
evenly,  meeting  squarely  the  gaze  of  the  Chief  of  Detec- 
tives. 

"  Do  you  realize,  young  man,"  Barlow  continued  in  the 
same  measured,  significant  tone,  "that  whether  you  go 
straight,  and  how  you  go  straight,  depends  pretty  much 
on  me?" 

"Mind  making  that  a  little  clearer,  Chief?" 

"  I  '11  show  you  part  of  my  hand  —  just  remember  that 
I'm  holding  back  my  high  cards.  I  don't  believe  you're 


64         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

going  to  go  straight,  so  we'll  start  with  the  proposition 
that  you're  not  going  to  run  straight  and  work  on  from 
there.  You  're  clever,  Brainard  —  I  hand  you  that ;  and 
all  the  classy  crooks  trust  you.  That's  why  I  had  picked 
you  out  for  what  I  wanted  long  before  you  left  stir. 
Brainard,  you're  wise  enough  to  know  that  some  of  our 
best  pinches  come  from  tips  handed  us  from  the  inside. 
Brainard"  —  the  slow  voice  had  now  become  incisive, 
mandatory —  "you're  not  going  to  go  straight.  You're 
going  to  string  along  with  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  and 
the  rest  of  the  bunch  —  we  '11  protect  you  —  and  you  're 
going  to  slip  us  tips  when  something  big  is  about  to  be 
pulled  off." 

Larry,  experienced  with  police  methods  though  he 
was,  could  hardly  believe  this  thing  which  was  being 
proposed  to  him,  Larry  Brainard.  But  he  controlled  him- 
self. 

"If  I  get  you,  Chief,  you  are  suggesting  that  I  become 
a  police  stool?" 

"Exactly.  We'll  never  tip  your  hand.  And  any  little 
thing  you  pull  off  on  your  own  we  '11  not  bother  you  about. 
And,  besides,  we'll  slip  you  a  little  dough  regular  on  the 
quiet." 

"And  all  you  want  me  to  do  in  exchange,"  Larry  asked 
quietly,  "is  to  hand  up  my  pals?" 

"That 'sail." 

Larry  found  it  required  his  all  of  strength  to  control 
himself;  but  he  did. 

"There  are  only  three  small  objections  to  your  propo- 
sition, Chief." 

"Yes?" 

"The  first  is,  I  shall  not  be  a  stool." 

"What's  that?" 

"And  the  second  is,  I  would  n't  squeal  on  a  pal  to  you 
even  if  I  were  a  crook.  And  the  third  is  what  I  said  in  the 
beginning:  I'm  not  going  to  be  a  crook." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         65 

Barlow's  squat,  powerful  figure  arose  menacingly. 
Casey  also  stood  up. 

" I  tell  you  you  are  going  to  be  a  crook!"  Barlow's  big 
fist  crashed  down  on  his  desk  in  a  tremendous  exclama- 
tion point.  "And  you  're  going  to  work  for  me  exactly  as  I 
tell  you!" 

"I  have  already  given  you  my  final  word,"  said  Larry. 

"You  —  you  — "  Barlow  almost  choked  at  this  quiet 
defiance.  His  face  turned  red,  his  breath  came  in  a  flutter- 
ing snarl,  his  powerful  shoulders  hunched  up  as  if  he  were 
about  to  strike.  But  he  held  back  his  physical  blows. 

"That's  your  ultimatum?" 

"  If  you  care  to  call  it  so  —  yes." 

"Then  here's  mine!  I  told  you  I  was  holding  back  my 
high  cards.  Either  you  do  as  I  say,  and  work  with  Ga vegan 
and  Casey,  or  you  '11  not  be  able  to  hold  a  job  in  New  York  1 
My  men  will  see  to  that.  And  here 's  another  high  card. 
You  do  as  I  've  said,  or  I  '11  hang  some  charge  on  you,  one 
that'll  stick,  and  back  up  the  river  you'll  go  for  another 
stretch!  There's  an  ultimatum  for  you  to  think  about!" 

It  certainly  was.  Larry  gazed  into  the  harsh,  glaring 
face,  set  in  fierce  determination.  He  knew  that  Barlow, 
as  part  of  his  policy,  loved  to  break  down  the  spirit  of 
criminals;  and  he  knew  that  nothing  so  roused  Barlow  as 
opposition  from  a  man  he  considered  in  his  power.  Close 
beside  the  Chief  he  saw  the  gloating,  malignant  face  of 
Gavegan;  Casey,  who  had  been  restless  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  scene,  had  moved  to  the  window  and  was 
gazing  down  into  Center  Street. 

For  a  moment  Larry  did  not  reply.  Barlow  mistook 
Larry's  silence  for  wavering,  or  the  beginning  of  an  in- 
clination to  yield. 

"You  turn  that  over  in  your  noodle,"  Barlow  drove  on. 
"You're  going  to  go  crooked,  anyhow,  so  you  might  as 
well  go  crooked  in  the  only  way  that's  safe  for  you.  I 'm 
going  to  have  Gavegan  and  Casey  watch  you,  and  if  in  the 


66         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

next  few  days  you  don't  begin  to  string  along  with  Barney 
and  Old  Jimmie  and  that  bunch,  and  if  you  don't  get  me 
word  that  your  answer  to  my  proposition  is  'yes,'  hell's 
going  to  fall  on  you!  Now  get  out  of  here!" 

Larry  got  out.  He  was  liquid  lava  of  rage  inside ;  but  he 
had  had  enough  to  do  with  police  power  to  know  that  it 
would  help  him  not  at  all  to  permit  an  eruption  against  a 
police  official  while  he  was  in  the  very  heart  of  the  police 
stronghold. 

He  walked  back  toward  his  own  street  in  a  fury,  beneath 
which  was  subconsciously  an  element  of  uneasiness:  an 
uneasiness  which  would  have  been  instantly  roused  to 
caution  had  he  known  that  Barney  Palmer  had  this  hour 
and  more  been  following  him  in  a  taxicab,  and  that 
across  the  street  from  the  car's  window  Barney's  sharp 
face  had  watched  him  enter  Police  Headquarters  and  had 
watched  him  emerge. 

Home  reached,  Larry  briefly  recounted  his  experience 
at  Headquarters  to  Hunt  and  the  Duchess.  The  painter 
whistled;  the  Duchess  blinked  and  said  nothing  at  all. 

"Maggie  was  more  right  than  she  knew  when  she  first 
said  you  were  facing  a  tough  proposition!"  exclaimed 
Hunt.  "Believe  me,  young  fellow,  you're  certainly  up 
against  it!" 

"Can  you  beat  it  for  irony!"  said  Larry,  pacing  the 
floor.  "A  man  wants  to  go  straight.  His  pals  ask  him  to 
be  a  crook,  and  are  sore  because  he  won't  be  a  crook.  The 
police  ask  him  to  be  a  crook,  and  threaten  him  because  he 
does  n't  want  to  be  a  crook.  Some  situation!" 

"Some  situation!"  repeated  Hunt.  "What 're  you  go- 
ing to  do?" 

"Do?"  Larry  halted,  his  face  set  with  defiant  deter- 
mination. "  I  'm  going  to  keep  on  doing  exactly  what  I  've 
been  doing!  And  they  can  all  go  to  hell!" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         67 


CHAPTER  X 

FOR  several  days  nothing  seemed  to  be  happening,  though 
Larry  had  a  sense  that  unknown  forces  were  gathering  on 
distant  isothermal  lines  and  bad  weather  was  bearing 
down  upon  him.  During  these  days,  trying  to  ignore  that 
formless  trouble,  he  gave  himself  with  a  most  rigid  de- 
termination to  his  new  routine  —  the  routine  which  he 
counted  on  to  help  him  into  the  way  of  great  things. 

Every  day  he  saw  Maggie;  sometimes  he  was  in  her 
company  for  an  hour  or  more.  He  had  the  natural  hunger 
of  a  young  man  to  talk  to  a  young  woman ;  and,  moreover, 
it  is  a  severe  strain  for  a  man  to  be  living  under  the  same 
roof  with  the  girl  he  loves  and  not  to  be  on  terms  of  friend- 
ship with  her.  But  Maggie  maintained  her  aloofness. 
She  spoke  only  when  she  was  pressed  into  it,  and  her 
speech  was  usually  no  more  than  a  "yes"  or  a  "no,"  or  a 
flashing  phrase  of  disdain. 

At  times  Larry  had  the  feeling  that,  for  all  her  repres- 
sion, Maggie  would  have  been  glad  to  be  more  free  with 
him.  And  he  knew  enough  of  human  nature  not  to  be  too 
disheartened  by  her  attitude.  Had  he  been  a  nonentity 
to  her,  she  would  have  ignored  him.  Her  very  insults 
were  proof  that  he  was  a  positive  personality  with  real 
significance  in  her  life.  And  so  he  counseled  himself  to 
have  patience  and  await  a  thawing  or  an  awaking.  Be- 
sides, he  kept  repeating  to  himself,  there  would  be  small 
chance  of  effecting  a  conversion  in  this  militant  young 
orthodoxist  of  cynicism  until  he  had  proved  the  soundness 
of  contrary  views  by  his  own  established  success. 

And  thus  the  days  drifted  by.  But  on  the  fifth  day 
after  his  interview  with  Barlow  things  began  to  happen. 
First  of  all,  he  noticed  in  a  morning  paper  that  Red 
Hannigan  and  Jack  Rosenfeldt,  members  of  his  old  out- 
fit and  suggested  by  Old  Jimmie  as  participants  in  his 


68         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

proposed  new  enterprise,  had  just  been  arrested  by  Gave- 
gan  and  Casey  on  the  charge  of  alleged  connection  with 
the  sale  of  fraudulent  mining  stock. 

Second,  on  his  return  at  the  end  of  the  afternoon,  he 
saw  standing  before  the  house  a  taxicab  with  a  trunk  be- 
side the  chauffeur.  In  the  musty  museum  of  a  room  be- 
hind the  pawnshop  he  found  Hunt  and  the  Duchess  and 
Old  Jimmie  and  Barney;  and  also  Maggie,  coming  down 
the  stairway,  hat  and  coat  on  and  carrying  a  suitcase.  A 
sharp  pain  throbbed  through  him  as  he  recognized  the 
significance  of  Maggie's  hat  and  coat  and  baggage. 

"Maggie  —  you're  going  away?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes." 

She  had  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway,  and  at 
eight  of  him  had  gone  a  little  pale  and  wide-eyed.  But 
in  an  instant  she  had  recovered  her  accustomed  flair; 
there  came  a  proud  lift  to  her  head,  a  flash  of  scorn  into 
her  dark  eyes. 

"At  last  I'm  leaving  this  street  for  good,"  she  said. 
"  I  told  you  that  some  day  I  was  going  out  into  the  world 
and  do  big  things.  The  time's  come  —  I  'm  graduated  — 
I  'm  going  to  begin  real  work.  And  I  'm  going  to  succeed  — 
you  see!" 

"Maggie!"  he  breathed.  Then  impulsively  he  started 
toward  her  authoritatively.  "Maggie,  I'm  not  going  to 
let  you  do  anything  of  the  sort!" 

But  swiftly  Barney  had  stepped  in  between  them,  Old 
Jimmie  just  behind  him. 

"Keep  out  of  this!"  Barney  snapped  at  Larry,  a  red- 
dish blaze  in  his  eyes.  "Maggie's  going  away  and  you 
can't  stop  her.  D'you  think  her  father  is  going  to  let  her 
stay  down  here  any  longer,  where  you  can  spout  your 
preaching  at  her!  —  aiid  you  all  the  time  a  stool  and  a 
squealer!" 

"What's  that?"  cried  Larry. 

"I  called  you  a  stool!"  repeated  the  malignantly 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         69 

exultant  Barney,  alert  for  any  move  on  the  part  of  the 
suddenly  tensed  Larry.  "And  you  are  a  stool!  Didn't 
I  see  you  myself  go  into  Headquarters  with  Casey  and 
Ga vegan  where  you  sold  yourself  to  Chief  Barlow!" 

"Why,  you  damned  —  " 

Even  before  he  spoke  Larry  launched  a  furious  swing 
straight  from  the  hip  at  Barney's  twisted  face.  But 
Barney  had  been  expecting  exactly  that,  and  was  even 
the  quicker.  He  caught  Larry's  wrist  before  it  was  fairly 
started,  and  thrust  a  dull-hued  automatic  into  Larry's 
stomach. 

"Behave,  damn  you,"  gritted  Barney,  "or  I'll  blow 
your  damned  guts  out!  No  —  go  ahead  and  try  to  hit 
me.  I'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  kill  you,  you  rat, 
and  have  a  good  plea  of  self-defense!" 

Larry  let  his  hands  unclench  and  fall  to  his  sides. 
"You've  got  the  drop  on  me,  Barney  —  but  you're  a 
liar." 

"You  bet  I  got  the  drop  on  you!  And  not  only  with 
my  gun.  I  've  got  it  on  you  about  being  a  stool.  Every- 
body knows  you  are  a  stool.  And  what's  more,  they 
know  you  are  a  squealer!" 

"A  squealer!"  Larry  stiffened  again. 

"A  stool  and  a  squealer!"  Barney  fairly  hurled  at 
Larry  these  two  most  despised  epithets  of  his  world. 
"You've  done  your  job  swell  as  a  stool,  and  squealed  on 
Red  Hannigan  and  Jack  Rosenfeldt  and  turned  them  up 
for  the  police!" 

"You  believe  I  had  anything  to  do  with  their  arrest?" 
exclaimed  Larry. 

Barney  laughed  in  his  derision. 

"Of  course  we  believe  it,"  put  in  Old  Jimmie,  his 
seamed,  cunning  face  now  ruthlessly  hard.  "And  what's 
more,  we  know  it!" 

"And  what's  still  more,"  Barney  taunted,  "Maggie 
believes  it,  too!" 


70         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Larry  turned  to  Maggie.  Her  face  was  now  drawn, 
with  staring  eyes. 

"Maggie  —  do  you  believe  it?"  he  demanded. 

For  a  moment  she  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  Then 
slowly  she  nodded. 

"But,  Maggie,"  he  protested,  "I  did  n't  do  it!  Barlow 
did  ask  me  to  be  a  stool,  but  I  turned  him  down!  Aside 
from  that,  I  know  no  more  of  this  than  you  do!" 

"Of  course  you'd  deny  it  —  we  were  waiting  for  that," 
sneered  Barney.  "Jimmie,  we've  wasted  enough  time 
here.  Take  Maggie's  bag  and  let's  be  moving  on." 

Old  Jimmie  picked  up  Maggie's  suitcase,  and  slipping 
a  hand  through  her  arm  led  her  across  the  room.  She  did 
not  even  say  good-bye  to  Hunt  or  the  Duchess,  or  even 
glance  at  them;  but  went  out  silently,  her  drawn,  staring 
look  on  Larry  alone. 

Barney  backed  after  them,  his  automatic  still  held  in 
readiness.  "  I  'm  letting  you  down  damned  easy,  Brain- 
ard,"  he  said,  hate  glittering  in  his  eyes.  "But  there's 
some  who  won't  be  so  nice!" 

With  that  he  closed  the  door.  Until  that  moment  both 
Hunt  and  the  Duchess  had  said  nothing.  Now  the 
Duchess  spoke  up: 

"I'm  glad  they've  taken  Maggie  away,  Larry.  I've 
seen  the  way  you  've  come  to  feel  about  her,  and  she 's 
not  the  right  sort  for  you." 

But  Larry  was  still  too  dazed  by  the  way  in  which 
Maggie  had  walked  out  of  his  life  to  make  any  response. 

"  But  there 's  a  lot  in  what  Barney  said  about  there 
being  some  who  would  n't  be  easy  on  you,"  con- 
tinued the  Duchess.  "  That  word  had  been  brought  me 
before  Barney  showed  up.  So  I  had  this  ready  for 
you." 

From  a  slit  pocket  in  her  baggy  skirt  the  Duchess 
drew  out  a  pistol  and  handed  it  to  Larry. 

"What's  this  for?"  Larry  asked. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          71 

"I  was  told  that  word  had  gone  out  to  the  Ginger 
Buck  Gang  to  get  you,"  answered  the  Duchess.  "Barney 
has  some  secret  connection  with  the  Ginger  Bucks.  His 
saying  that  you  were  a  stool  and  a  squealer  is  not  the 
only  thing  he's  got  against  you;  he's  jealous  of  you  on 
account  of  everything  —  especially  Maggie.  So  you  '11 
need  that  gun." 

"What's  this  I've  fallen  into  the  middle  of?"  ex- 
claimed Hunt.  "A  Kentucky  feud?" 

"It's  very  easy  to  understand  when  you  know  the 
code,"  Larry  explained  grimly.  "Down  here  when  an 
outfit  thinks  one  of  its  members  has  squealed  on 
them,  it's  their  duty  to  be  always  on  the  watch  for  their 
chance  to  finish  him  off.  I 'm  to  be  finished  off  —  that's 
all." 

"Say,  young  fellow,  the  life  of  a  straight  crook  does  n't 
seem  to  be  getting  much  simpler!  Why,  man,  you 
hardly  dare  to  stir  from  the  house!  What  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"Going  to  go  around  my  business,  always  with  the 
pleasant  anticipation  of  a  bullet  in  my  back  when  some 
fellow  thinks  it  safe  for  him  to  shoot." 

The  three  of  them  discussed  this  latest  development 
over  their  dinner,  which  they  had  together  up  in  Hunt's 
studio.  But  despite  all  their  talk  of  his  danger,  a  very 
real  and  near  danger,  Larry's  mind  was  more  upon 
Maggie  who  had  thus  suddenly  been  wrenched  out  of 
his  life.  He  remembered  her  excited,  boastful  talk  of 
their  first  evening.  Her  period  of  schooling  was  indeed 
now  over;  she  was  now  committed  to  her  rosily  imagined 
adventure,  in  which  she  saw  herself  as  a  splendid  lady. 
And  with  Barney  Palmer  as  her  guiding  influence!  .  .  . 

Dinner  had  been  finished  and  Hunt  was  trying  to 
give  Larry  such  cheer  as  "Buck  up,  young  fellow  —  you 
know  the  worst  —  there's  nothing  else  that  can  happen," 
when  the  lie  direct  was  given  to  his  phrases  by  heavy 


73         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

steps  running  up  the  stairway  and  the  opening  and  clos- 
ing of  the  door.  There  stood  Officer  Casey,  heaving  for 
breath. 

Instinctively  Larry  drew  his  pistol.  "Casey!  What 're 
you  here  for?" 

"Get  rid  of  that  gat  —  don't  be  found  with  a  gun  on," 
ordered  Casey.  "And  beat  it.  You've  got  less  than 
five  minutes  to  make  your  get-away." 

"My  get-away!  What's  up?" 

"You  haven't  come  across  as  the  Chief  ordered  you 
to,  and  he's  out  to  give  you  just  what  he  said  he  would," 
Casey  said  rapidly,  his  speech  broken  by  panting. 
"There's  been  a  stick-up,  with  assault  that  may  be 
changed  to  attempted  manslaughter,  and  the  Chief  has 
three  men  who  swear  you're  the  guilty  party.  It's  a 
sure-fire  case  against  you,  Larry  —  and  it'll  mean  five 
to  ten  years  if  you're  caught.  Gavegan  and  I  got  the 
order  to  arrest  you.  I've  beat  Gavegan  to  it  so's  to  tip 
you  off,  but  he's  only  a  few  minutes  behind.  Hurry, 
Larry !  Only  —  only  —  " 

Casey  paused,  gasping  for  his  wind. 

"Only  what,  Casey?" 

"Only  alibi  me,  Larry,  by  slipping  over  a  haymaker  on 
me  like  you  did  on  Gavegan.  So's  I  can  say  I  tried  to 
get  you,  but  you  were  too  quick  and  knocked  me  cold. 
Quick!  Only  not  too  hard  —  I  know  how  to  play  pos- 
sum." 

Larry  handed  the  pistol  to  Hunt.  "Casey,  you're  a 
real  scout!  Thanks!"  He  grasped  Casey's  hand,  then 
swiftly  relaxed  his  grip.  "Ready?" 

"Fire,"  said  Casey. 

Larry  held  his  open  left  hand  close  to  Casey's  jaw,  and 
drove  his  right  fist  into  his  palm  with  a  thudding  smack. 
Casey  went  sprawling  to  the  floor,  and  lay  there  loosely, 
with  mouth  agape,  in  perfect  simulation  of  a  man  who 
has  been  knocked  out. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         73 

Larry  turned  quickly.  "You  two  will  testify  that  I 
beat  Casey  up  and  then  made  my  escape?" 

"Sure,  I'll  testify  to  anything  for  the  sake  of  a  good 
old  goat  like  Casey!"  cried  Hunt.  "But  hurry,  boy  — 
beat  it!" 

The  Duchess  held  out  Larry's  hat  to  him,  and  thrust 
into  his  coat  pocket  a  roll  of  bills  which  had  come  from 
her  capacious  skirt.  "Hurry,  Larry  —  and  be  careful  — 
for  you're  all  I've  got." 

Impulsively  Larry  stooped  and  kissed  the  thin,  shriv- 
eled lips  of  his  grandmother  —  the  first  kiss  he  had  ever 
given  her.  Then  he  turned  and  ran  down  the  stairway, 
Hunt  just  behind  him.  He  turned  out  the  light  in  the 
back  room,  and  called  to  Old  Isaac  to  darken  the  pawn- 
shop proper.  He  was  going  forth  with  two  forces  in  arms 
against  him,  the  police  and  his  pals,  and  he  had  no  desire 
to  be  a  shining  mark  for  either  or  both  by  stepping 
through  a  lighted  doorway. 

"Larry,  my  son,  you're  all  right!"  said  Hunt,  gripping 
his  hand  in  the  darkness.  "Listen,  boy:  if  ever  you're 
trapped  and  can  get  to  a  telephone,  call  Plaza  nine- 
double-o-one  and  say  'Benvenuto  Cellini.'" 

"All  right." 

"Remember,  you're  to  say  'Benvenuto  Cellini,'  and 
the  telephone  is  Plaza  nine-double-o-one.  Luck  to  you!" 
Again  they  gripped  hands.  Then  Larry  slipped  through 
the  darkened  doorway  into  whatever  might  lie  beyond. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  MISTING  rain  was  being  swirled  about  by  a  temperish 
wind  as  Larry  came  out  into  the  little  street.  Down  to- 
ward the  river  the  one  gaslight  glowed  faintly  like  an 
expiring  nebula;  all  the  little  shops  were  closed;  home 
lights  gleamed  behind  the  curtained  windows  which  the 


74         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

storm  had  closed;  so  that  the  street  was  now  a  little 
canyon  of  uncertain  shadows. 

Larry  had  not  needed  to  think  to  know  that  Gavegan 
would  be  making  his  vindictive  approach  from  the 
westerly  regions  where  lay  Headquarters.  So,  keeping  in 
the  deeper  shadows  close  to  the  building,  Larry  took  the 
eastern  course  of  the  street,  remembering  in  a  flash  a  skiff 
he  had  seen  tethered  to  a  scow  moored  to  the  pier  which 
stretched  like  a  pointer  finger  from  the  little  Square.  As 
yet  he  had  no  plan  beyond  the  necessity  of  the  present 
moment,  which  was  flight.  Could  he  but  make  that  skiff 
unseen  and  cast  off,  he  would  have  time,  in  the  brief  sanc- 
tuary which  the  black  river  would  afford  him,  to  formulate 
the  wisest  procedure  his  predicament  permitted  him. 

As  he  came  near  that  smothered  glow-worm  of  a  street- 
lamp  it  assumed  for  him  the  betraying  glare  of  a  huge 
spot-light.  But  it  had  to  be  passed  to  gain  the  skiff;  and 
with  collar  turned  up  and  hat-brim  pulled  down  and  head 
hunched  low,  he  entered  the  dim  sphere  of  betrayal, 
walked  under  its  penny 's-worth  of  flame,  and  glided 
toward  the  shadows  beyond,  his  eyes  straining  with  the 
preternatural  keenness  of  the  hunted  at  every  stoop 
and  doorway  before  him. 

He  was  just  passing  out  of  the  sphere  of  mist-light  — 
the  lamp  being  now  at  his  back  helped  him  —  when  he 
saw  three  vague  figures  lurking  half  a  dozen  paces  ahead 
of  him.  His  brain  registered  these  vague  figures  with  the 
instantaneity  of  a  snapshot  camera  at  full  noon.  They 
were  mere  shadows;  but  the  farther  of  the  three  seemed 
to  be  Barney  Palmer  —  he  was  not  sure ;  but  of  the  iden- 
tity of  the  other  two  there  was  no  doubt:  "Little  Mick" 
and  "  Lefty  Ed,"  both  members  high  in  the  councils  of 
the  Ginger  Bucks,  and  either  of  whose  services  as  a  killer 
could  be  purchased  for  a  hundred  dollars  or  a  paper  of 
cocaine,  depending  upon  which  at  the  moment  there  was 
felt  the  greater  need. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          75 

In  the  very  instant  that  he  saw,  Larry  doubled  about 
and  ran  at  full  speed  back  up  the  street.  Two  shots  rang 
out;  Larry  could  not  tell  whether  they  were  fired  by 
Little  Mick  or  Lefty  Ed  or  Barney  Palmer  —  that  is,  if 
the  third  man  really  were  Barney.  Again  two  shots  were 
fired,  then  came  the  sound  of  pursuing  feet.  Luckily  not 
one  of  the  bullets  had  touched  Larry;  for  the  New  York 
professional  gunman  is  the  premier  bad  shot  of  all  the 
world,  and  cannot  count  upon  his  marksmanship,  unless 
he  can  get  his  weapon  solidly  anchored  against  his  man, 
or  can  sneak  around  to  the  rear  and  pot  his  unsuspecting 
victim  in  the  back. 

As  Larry  neared  the  pawnshop,  with  the  intention  of 
making  his  escape  through  the  western  stretch  of  the 
street,  he  saw  that  Old  Isaac  had  switched  on  the  lights; 
and  he  also  saw  Officer  Gavegan  bearing  down  in  his 
direction.  They  sighted  each  other  in  the  same  instant, 
and  Gavegan  let  out  a  roar  and  started  for  him. 

Caught  between  two  opposing  forces,  Larry  again  had 
no  time  to  plan.  Rather,  there  was  nothing  he  could 
plan,  for  only  one  way  was  open  to  him.  He  dashed  into 
the  pawnshop  and  into  the  back  room.  At  the  Duchess's 
desk  Hunt  was  scribbling  at  furious  speed. 

"I'm  caught,  Hunt  —  Gavegan's  coming,"  he  gasped, 
and  ran  up  the  stairs,  Hunt  following  and  stuffing  his 
scribblings  into  a  pocket.  As  Larry  passed  the  open 
studio  door  he  saw  Casey  sitting  up.  "Down  on  the  floor 
with  you,  Casey !  Hunt,  work  over  him  to  bring  him  to  — 
and  stall  Gavegan  for  a  while  if  you  can." 

With  that  Larry  sprang  to  a  ladder  at  the  end  of  the 
little  hall,  ran  up  it,  unhooked  and  pushed  up  the  trap, 
scrambled  through  upon  the  roof,  and  pushed  the  trap 
back  into  place. 

Fortune,  or  rather  the  well-wishing  wits  of  friends 
below,  gave  Larry  a  few  precious  moments  more  than  he 
had  counted  on.  He  was  barely  out  on  the  rain-greased 


76         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

tin  roof,  with  the  trap  down,  when  Gavegan  came  thump- 
ing up  the  stairs  and  into  the  studio.  At  sight  of  the  re- 
cumbent Casey,  head  limply  on  Hunt's  knees,  and  his 
loose  face  being  laved  by  a  wet  towel  in  Hunt's  hands, 
Gavegan  let  out  another  roar: 

"Hell's  bells!  What  the  hell's  this  mean?" 

"I  tried  to  nab  Brainard,"  Casey  mumbled  feebly, 
"and  he  knocked  me  out  cold  —  the  same  as  he  did  you, 
Gavegan." 

"Hell!"  snorted  Gavegan,  his  wrath  increased  by  this 
reference.  "You  there"  —  to  Hunt  and  the  Duchess  — 
" where 'd  Brainard  go?  He's  in  this  house  some  place!" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Hunt. 

"Yes,  you  do!  Leave  that  boob  side-kick  of  mine 
sleep  it  off,  and  help  me  find  Brainard  or  you  '11  feel  my 
boot!" 

The  big  painter  stood  up  facing  the  big  detective  and 
his  left  hand  gripped  the  latter's  wrist  and  his  right 
closed  upon  the  detective's  throat  just  as  it  had  closed 
upon  the  lean  throat  of  Old  Jimmie  on  the  day  of  Larry's 
return  —  only  now  there  was  nothing  playful  in  the 
noose  of  that  big  hand.  He  shook  Gavegan  as  he  might 
have  shaken  a  pillow,  with  a  thumb  thrusting  painfully 
in  beneath  Gavegan's  ear. 

"I've  done  nothing,  and  that  bully  stuff  doesn't  go 
with  me!"  he  fairly  spat  into  Gavegan's  face.  "You  talk 
to  me  like  a  gentleman  and  apologize,  or  I  '11  throw  you 
out  of  the  window  and  let  your  head  bounce  off  one  of  its 
brother  cobblestones  below!" 

Gavegan  choked  out  an  apology,  whereat  Hunt  flung 
him  from  him.  The  detective,  glowering  at  the  other, 
pulled  aside  curtains,  peered  into  corners;  then  made 
furious  and  fruitless  search  of  the  rooms  below,  bringing 
up  at  last  at  Maggie's  door,  which  the  Duchess  had 
slipped  ahead  of  him  and  locked.  When  he  demanded 
the  key,  the  Duchess  told  him  of  Maggie's  departure  and 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         77 

her  carrying  the  key  with  her.  It  was  a  solid  door,  with 
strong  lock  and  hinges;  and  two  minutes  of  Gavegan's 
battering  shoulders  were  required  to  make  it  yield  en- 
trance. Not  till  he  found  the  room  empty  did  Gavegan 
think  of  the  trap  and  the  roof. 

Larry  made  good  use  of  these  few  extra  minutes 
granted  him.  Whatever  he  was  to  do  he  realized  he  must 
do  it  quickly.  Not  for  long  would  the  forces  arrayed 
against  him  be  small  in  number;  Gavegan,  though  beaten 
at  the  outset,  would  send  out  an  alarm  that  would  arouse 
the  police  of  the  city  —  and  in  their  own  degree  the 
gangsters  would  do  the  same.  During  his  weeks  of  free- 
dom Larry  had  unconsciously  studied  the  layout  of  the 
neighborhood,  his  old  instincts  at  work.  The  subcon- 
scious knowledge  thus  gained  was  of  instant  value.  He 
hurried  along  the  slippery  roofs,  taking  care  not  to  trip 
over  the  dividing  walls,  and  came  to  the  rear  edge  of  a 
roof  where  he  had  marked  a  fire-escape  with  an  unusually 
broad  upper  landing.  He  could  discern  the  faint  outlines 
of  this ;  and  hanging  to  the  gutter  he  dropped  to  the  fire- 
escape,  and  a  moment  later  he  was  down  in  the  back 
yard ;  and  yet  two  moments  later  he  was  over  two  fences 
and  going  through  a  rabbit's  burrow  of  a  passageway  that 
went  beneath  a  house  into  the  street  behind  his  own. 

He  did  not  pause  to  reconnoiter.  Time  was  of  the 
essence  of  his  safety,  risks  had  to  be  taken.  He  plunged 
out  of  his  hole  —  around  the  first  corner  —  around  the 
next  —  and  thus  wove  in  and  out,  working  westward, 
till  at  last,  on  turning  a  corner  into  a  lighted  street,  he 
saw  possible  relief  in  two  stray  taxicabs  before  a  little 
East  Side  restaurant,  one  of  which  was  just  leaving. 

"Taxi!"  he  called  breathlessly. 

The  chauffeur  of  the  moving  car  swung  back  beside 
the  curb  and  opened  the  door.  But  even  as  he  started  to 
enter  he  saw  Little  Mick  and  Lefty  Ed  turn  into  the 
street  behind  him.  However,  the  brightness  of  this  street 


78          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

ill-accorded  with  the  anonymity  with  which  their  art  is 
most  safely  and  profitably  practiced,  so  Larry  got  in 
without  a  bullet  flicking  at  him. 

"Forty-Second  Street  and  Broadway,"  he  called  to  the 
chauffeur  as  he  closed  the  door. 

The  car  started  off.  Looking  back  through  the  little 
window  he  saw  Lefty  Ed  enter  the  other  taxicab,  and 
saw  Little  Mick  standing  on  the  curb.  He  understood. 
Little  Mick  was  to  send  out  the  alarm,  while  Lefty  was 
to  follow  the  trail. 

Let  Lefty  follow.  At  least  Larry  now  had  a  few  min- 
utes to  consider  some  plan  which  should  look  beyond  the 
safety  of  the  immediate  moment.  He  was  well-dressed, 
albeit  somewhat  wet  and  soiled;  he  had  money  in  his 
pockets.  What  should  he  do? 

Yes,  what  should  he  do?  The  more  he  considered  it 
the  more  ineluctable  did  his  situation  become.  By  now 
Gavegan  had  sent  out  his  alarm;  within  a  few  moments 
every  policeman  on  duty  would  have  instructions  to 
watch  for  him.  He  might  escape  for  the  time,  at  least, 
these  allies  of  his  one-time  pals  by  going  to  a  hotel  and 
taking  a  room  there;  but  to  walk  into  a  hotel  would  be 
to  walk  into  arrest.  On  the  other  hand,  he  might  evade 
the  police  if  he  sought  refuge  in  one  of  his  old  haunts,  or 
perhaps  with  old  Bronson;  but  then  his  angered  pals 
knew  of  these  haunts,  and  to  enter  one  of  them  would  be 
to  offer  himself  freely  to  their  vengeance. 

There  were  other  cities  —  but  then  how  was  he  to  get 
to  them?  He  saw  Manhattan  for  what  it  was  to  a  man 
who  was  a  fugitive  from  justice  and  injustice:  an  island, 
a  trap,  with  only  a  few  outlets  and  inlets  for  its  millions: 
two  railway  stations  —  a  few  ferries  —  a  few  bridges  — 
a  few  tunnels:  and  at  every  one  of  them  policemen 
watching  for  him.  He  could  not  leave  New  York.  And 
yet  how  in  God's  name  was  he  to  stay  here? 

He  thought  of  Maggie.    So  she  wanted  the  life  of 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         79 

dazzling  excitement,  of  brilliant  adventure,  did  she?  He 
wondered  how  she  would  like  a  little  of  the  real  thing  — 
such  as  this? 

As  he  neared  Forty-Second  Street  he  still  was  without 
definite  plan  which  would  guarantee  him  safety,  and 
there  was  Lefty  hanging  on  doggedly.  An  idea  came 
which  would  at  least  extend  his  respite  and  give  him 
more  time  for  thought.  He  opened  the  door  of  his  cab 
and  thrust  a  ten-dollar  note  into  the  instinctively  ready 
hand  of  his  driver. 

"Keep  the  change — and  give  me  a  swing  once  around 
Central  Park,  slowing  down  on  those  hilly  turns  on  the 
west  side." 

"I  gotcha." 

The  car  entered  the  park  at  the  Plaza  and  sped  up  the 
shining,  almost  empty  drive.  Larry  kept  watch,  now  on 
the  trailing  Lefty,  now  on  the  best  chance  for  execution 
of  his  idea  —  all  the  way  up  the  east  side  and  around  the 
turn  at  the  north  end.  As  the  car,  now  south-bound, 
swung  up  the  hill  near  One  Hundred  and  Fifth  Street,  at 
whose  crest  there  is  a  sharp  curve  with  thick-growing, 
overhanging  trees,  Larry  opened  the  right  door  and  said: 

"Show  me  a  little  speed,  driver,  as  soon  as  you  pass 
this  curve!" 

"I  gotcha,"  replied  the  chauffeur. 

The  slowing  car  hugged  the  inside  of  the  sharp  turn, 
Larry  holding  the  door  open  and  waiting  his  moment. 
The  instant  the  taxi  made  the  curve  Lefty's  car  was  cut 
from  view;  and  that  instant  Larry  sprang  from  the  run- 
ning-board, slamming  the  door  behind  him,  landed  on 
soft  earth  and  scuttled  in  among  the  trees.  Crouching  in 
the  shadows  he  saw  his  car  speed  away  as  per  his  orders, 
and  the  moment  after  he  saw  Lefty's  car,  evidently  taken 
by  surprise  by  this  obvious  attempt  at  escape,  leap  for- 
ward in  hot  pursuit. 

Larry  slipped  farther  in  among  the  trees  and  sat  down, 


80          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

his  back  against  a  tree.  This  was  better.  For  the  time  he 
was  safe. 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  Then  for  a  moment  what  he 
had  just  been  through  this  last  hour  came  back  to  him  in 
an  almost  amusing  light:  as  something  grotesquely  im- 
possible —  much  like  those  helter-skelter,  utterly  unreal 
chases  which,  with  slight  variations  of  personalities  and 
costumes,  were  the  chief  plots  for  the  motion-picture 
drama  in  its  crude  childhood.  But  though  there  seemed 
a  likeness,  there  was  a  tremendous  difference.  For  this 
was  real !  Every  one  was  in  earnest ! 

Again  he  thought  of  Maggie.  What  would  she  think, 
what  would  be  her  attitude,  if  she  knew  the  truth  about 
him?  —  the  truth  about  those  she  had  gone  with  and  the 
life  she  had  gone  into?  Would  she  be  inclined  toward 
him,  would  she  help  him?  .  .  . 

Again  he  thought  of  what  he  should  do.  Now  that  he 
commanded  a  composure  which  had  not  been  his  during 
the  stress  of  his  flight,  he  examined  every  aspect  with 
greater  care.  But  the  conclusions  of  composure  were  the 
same  as  those  of  excitement.  He  could  not  gain  entrance 
to  one  of  the  great  hotels  and  remain  in  his  room,  un- 
identified among  its  thousands  of  strangers;  he  could  not 
find  asylum  in  one  of  his  old  haunts;  he  dared  not  try  to 
leave  Manhattan.  He  was  a  prisoner,  whose  only  privi- 
lege was  a  larger  but  most  uncertain  liberty. 

And  that  liberty  was  becoming  penetratingly  uncom- 
fortable. An  hour  had  passed,  the  ground  on  which  he 
sat  was  wet  and  cold,  and  the  misty  air  was  assuming  a 
distressing  kinship  with  departed  winter  and  was  making 
shivering  assaults  upon  his  bones.  At  the  best,  he  real- 
ized, he  could  not  hope  to  remain  secure  in  this  culti- 
vated wilderness  beyond  daylight.  With  the  coming  of 
morning  he  would  certainly  be  the  prey  of  either  his  pals 
or  the  police.  And  if  they  did  not  beat  him  from  his 
hiding,  plain  mortal  hunger  would  drive  him  out  into  the 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          81 

open  streets.  If  he  was  to  do  anything  at  all,  he  must  do 
it  while  he  still  had  the  moderate  protection  of  the  night. 

And  then  for  the  first  time  there  came  to  him  remem- 
brance of  Hunt's  rapid  injunction,  given  him  in  the  hurly- 
burly  of  escape  when  no  thoughts  could  impress  the  upper 
surface  of  his  mind  save  those  of  the  immediate  moment. 
"If  you're  trapped,  call  Plaza  nine-double-o-one  and  say 
'Benvenuto  Cellini.'" 

Larry  had  no  idea  what  that  swift  instruction  might 
be  about.  And  the  chance  seemed  a  slender,  fantastical 
one,  even  if  he  could  safely  get  to  a  public  telephone. 
But  it  seemed  his  only  chance. 

He  arose,  and,  keeping  as  much  as  he  could  to  the 
wilder  regions  of  the  park,  and  making  the  utmost  use  of 
shadows  when  he  had  to  cross  a  path  or  a  drive,  he  stole 
southward.  He  remembered  a  drug-store  at  Eighty- 
Fourth  Street  and  Columbus  Avenue,  peculiarly  suited 
to  his  purpose,  for  it  had  a  side  entrance  on  Eighty- 
Fourth  Street  and  was  in  a  neighborhood  where  police- 
men were  infrequent. 

Fortune  favored  him.  At  length  he  reached  Eighty- 
Fourth  Street  and  peered  over  the  wall.  Central  Park 
West  was  practically  empty  of  automobiles,  for  the  thea- 
ters had  not  yet  discharged  their  crowds  and  no  policeman 
was  in  sight.  He  vaulted  the  wall;  a  minute  later  he  was 
in  a  booth  in  the  drug-store,  had  dropped  his  nickel  in  the 
slot,  and  was  asking  for  Plaza  nine-double-o-one. 

"Hello,  sir!"  responded  the  very  correct  voice  of  a 
man. 

"Benvenuto  Cellini,"  said  Larry. 

"Hold  the  wire,  sir,"  said  the  voice. 

Larry  held  the  wire,  wondering.  After  a  moment  the 
same  correct  voice  asked  where  Larry  was  speaking  from. 
Larry  gave  the  exact  information. 

"Stay  right  in  the  booth,  and  keep  on  talking;  say 
anything  you  like;  the  wire  here  will  be  kept  open,"  con- 


82         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

tinued  the  voice.  "We'll  not  keep  you  waiting  long, 
sir." 

The  voice  ceased.  Larry  began  to  chat  about  topics  of 
the  day,  about  invented  friends  and  engagements,  well 
knowing  that  his  stream  of  talk  was  not  being  heard  unless 
Central  was  "listening  in";  and  knowing  also  that,  to 
any  one  looking  into  the  glass  door  of  his  booth,  he  was 
giving  a  most  unsuspicious  appearance  of  a  busy  man. 
And  while  he  talked,  his  wonder  grew.  What  was  about 
to  happen?  What  was  this  Benvenuto  Cellini  business  all 
about? 

He  had  been  talking  for  fifteen  minutes  or  more  when 
the  glass  door  of  the  booth  was  opened  from  without  and 
a  man's  voice  remarked: 

"When  you  are  through,  sir,  we  will  be  going." 

The  voice  was  the  same  he  had  heard  over  the  wire. 
Larry  hung  up  and  followed  the  man  out  the  side  door, 
noting  only  that  he  had  a  lean,  respectful  face.  At  the 
curb  stood  a  limousine,  the  door  of  which  was  opened  by 
the  man  for  Larry.  Larry  stepped  in. 

"Are  you  followed,  sir?"  inquired  the  man. 

"I  don't  know." 

"We  'd  better  make  certain.  If  you  are,  we  '11  lose  them, 
sir.  We  '11  stop  somewhere  and  change  our  license  plates 
again." 

Instead  of  getting  into  the  unlighted  body  with  him, 
as  Larry  had  expected,  the  man  closed  the  door,  mounted 
to  the  seat  beside  the  chauffeur,  and  the  car  shot  west  and 
turned  up  Riverside  Drive. 

One  may  break  the  speed  laws  in  New  York  if  one  has 
the  speed,  and  if  one  has  the  ability  to  get  away  with  it. 
This  car  had  both.  Never  before  had  Larry  driven  so 
rapidly  within  New  York  City  limits;  he  knew  this,  that 
any  trailing  taxicab  would  be  lost  behind.  At  Two- 
Hundred-and-Forty-Fifth  Street  the  car  swung  into  Van 
Cortlandt  Park,  and  switched  off  all  lights.  Two  minutes 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND          83 

later  they  halted  in  a  dark  stretch  of  one  of  the  by-roads  of 
the  Park. 

"We'll  be  stopping  only  a  minute,  sir,  to  put  on  our 
right  number  plates,"  the  man  opened  the  door  to  explain. 

Within  the  minute  they  were  away  again,  now  pro- 
ceeding more  leisurely,  in  the  easy  manner  of  a  private  car 
going  about  its  private  business  —  though  the  interior  of 
the  car  was  discreetly  dark  and  Larry  huddled  discreetly 
into  a  corner.  Thus  they  drove  over  the  Grand  Boule- 
vards and  recrossed  the  Harlem  River  and  presently  drew 
up  in  front  of  a  great  apartment  house  in  Park  Avenue. 

The  man  opened  trie  door.  "Walk  right  in,  sir,  as 
though  you  belong  here.  The  doorman  and  the  elevator- 
man  are  prepared." 

They  might  be  prepared,  but  Larry  certainly  was  not; 
and  he  shot  up  the  elevator  to  the  top  floor  with  mounting 
bewilderment.  The  man  unlocked  the  door  of  an  apart- 
ment, ushered  Larry  in,  took  his  wet  hat,  then  ushered 
the  dazed  Larry  through  the  corner  of  a  dim-lit  drawing- 
room  and  through  another  door. 

"You  are  to  wait  here,  sir,"  said  the  man,  and  quietly 
withdrew. 

Larry  looked  about  him.  He  took  in  but  a  few  details, 
but  he  knew  enough  about  the  better  fittings  of  life  to 
realize  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  both  money  and  the 
best  of  taste.  He  noted  the  log  fire  in  the  broad  fireplace, 
comfortable  chairs,  the  imported  rugs  on  the  gleaming 
floor,  the  shelves  of  books  which  climbed  to  the  ceiling,  a 
quaint  writing-desk  in  one  corner  which  seemed  to  belong 
to  another  country  and  another  century,  but  which  was 
perfectly  at  home  in  this  room. 

On  the  desk  he  saw  standing  a  leather-framed  photo- 
graph which  seemed  familiar.  He  crossed  and  picked  it 
up.  Indeed  it  was  familiar !  It  was  a  photograph  of  Hunt : 
of  Hunt,  not  in  the  shabby,  shapeless  garments  he  wore 
down  at  the  Duchess's,  but  Hunt  accoutered  as  might  be  a 


84         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

man  accustomed  to  such  a  room  as  this  —  though  in  this 
picture  there  was  the  same  strong  chin,  the  same  belliger- 
ent good-natured  eyes. 

Now  how  and  where  did  that  impecunious,  rough-neck 
painter  fit  into  — 

But  the  dazed  question  Larry  was  asking  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  voice  from  the  door  —  the  thick  voice  of  a 
man: 

"Who  the  hell  V  you?" 

Larry  whirled  about.  In  the  doorway  stood  a  tall, 
bellicose  young  gentleman  of  perhaps  twenty-four  or  five, 
in  evening  dress,  flushed  of  face,  holding  unsteadily  to  the 
door- jamb. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Larry. 

"'N'  what  the  hell  you  doin'  here?"  continued  the 
belligerent  young  gentleman. 

11  I'd  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  could  tell  me,"  said  Larry. 

"Tryin*  to  stall,  'r'  you,"  declared  the  young  gentle- 
man with  a  scowling  profundity.  "No  go.  Got  to  come 
out  your  corner  V  fight.  'N'  I'm  goin'  lick  you." 

The  young  man  crossed  unsteadily  to  Larry  and  took  a 
fighting  pose. 

"Put  'em  up!"  he  ordered. 

This  was  certainlya  night  of  strange  adventure,  thought 
Larry.  His  wild  escape  —  his  coming  to  this  unknown 
place  —  and  now  this  befuddled  young  fellow  intent  upon 
battle  with  him. 

"Let's  fight  to-morrow,"  Larry  suggested  soothingly. 

" Put  'em  up ! "  ordered  the  other.  "If  you  don't  know 
what  you  're  doin'  here,  I  '11  show  you  what  you  're  doin' 
here!" 

But  he  was  not  to  show  Larry,  for  while  he  was  uttering 
his  last  words,  trying  to  steady  himself  in  a  crouch  for  the 
delivery  of  a  blow,  a  voice  sounded  sharply  from  the 
doorway  —  a  woman's  voice: 

"Dick!" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         85 

The  young  man  slowly  turned.  But  Larry  had  seen  her 
first.  He  had  no  chance  to  take  her  in,  that  first  moment, 
beyond  noting  that  she  was  slender  and  young  and  ex- 
quisitely gowned,  for  she  swept  straight  across  to  them. 

"Dick,  you're  drunk  again!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Wrong,  sis,"  he  corrected  in  an  injured  tone.  "It's 
same  drunk." 

"Dick,  you  go  to  bed!" 

"Now,  sis  — " 

"You  go  to  bed!" 

The  young  man  wavered  before  her  commanding  gaze. 
"Jus's  you  say — jus's  you  say,"  he  mumbled,  and  went 
unsteadily  toward  the  door. 

The  young  woman  watched  him  out,  and  then  turned 
her  troubled  face  back  to  Larry.  "I'm  sorry  Dick  be- 
haved to  you  as  he  did." 

And  then  before  Larry  could  make  answer,  her  clouded 
look  was  gone.  "So  you're  here  at  last,  Mr.  Brainard." 
She  held  her  hand  out,  smiling  a  smile  that  by  some  magic 
seemed  to  envelop  him  within  an  immediate  friendship. 

"I'm  Miss  Sherwood."  He  noted  that  the  slender, 
tapering  hand  had  almost  a  man's  strength  of  grip.  "  You 
need  n't  tell  me  anything  about  yourself,"  she  added, 
"for  I  already  know  a  lot  —  all  I  need  to  know:  about 
you  —  and  about  Maggie  Carlisle.  You  see  an  hour  ago 
a  messenger  brought  me  a  long  letter  he  'd  written 
about  you."  And  she  nodded  to  the  photograph  Larry 
was  still  holding. 

"You  —  you  know  him?"  Larry  stammered. 

She  answered  with  a  whimsical  smile:  "Yes.  Is  n't  he  a 
grand,  foolish  old  dear?  He's  such  a  roistering,  bragging 
personage  that  I've  named  him  Benvenuto  Cellini  — 
though  he 's  neither  liar  nor  thief.  He  must  have  told  you 
what  I  called  him." 

So  that  explained  this  password  of  "Benvenuto  Cellini " ! 
"No,  he  did  n't  explain  anything.  There  was  no  time." 


86         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"I  don't  know  where  he  is,"  she  continued;  "please 
don't  tell  me.  I  don't  want  to  know  until  he  wants  me  to 
know." 

Larry  had  been  making  a  swift  appraisal  of  her.  She 
was  perhaps  thirty,  fair,  with  golden-brown  hair  held  in 
place  by  a  large  comb  of  wrought  gold,  with  violet-blue 
eyes,  wearing  a  low-cut  gown  of  violet  chiffon  velvet  and 
dull  gold  shoes.  Larry's  instinct  told  him  that  here  was  a 
patrician,  a  thoroughbred:  with  poise,  with  a  knowledge 
of  the  world,  with  whimsical  humor,  with  a  kindly  under- 
standing of  people,  with  steel  in  her,  and  with  a  smiling 
readiness  for  almost  any  situation. 

"  I  think  no  one  will  find  you — at  least  for  the  present," 
her  pleasantly  modulated  voice  continued.  "There  are  so 
many  things  I  want  to  talk  over  with  you.  Perhaps  I  can 
help  about  Maggie.  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  talking 
about  her."  Larry  could  not  imagine  any  one  taking 
offense  at  anything  this  brilliant  apparition  might  possi- 
bly say.  "But  we '11  put  off  our  talk  until  to-morrow.  It 's 
late,  and  you're  wet  and  cold,  and  besides,  my  aunt  is 
having  one  of  her  bad  spells  and  thinks  she  needs  me. 
Judkins  will  see  to  you.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  said  Larry. 

She  moved  gracefully  out  —  almost  floated,  Larry 
would  have  said.  The  next  moment  the  man  was  with 
him  who  had  been  his  escort  here,  and  led  Larry  into  a 
spacious  bedroom  with  bath  attached.  Ten  minutes 
later  Judkins  made  his  exit,  carrying  Larry's  outer 
clothes;  and  another  ten  minutes  later,  after  a  hot  bath, 
and  garbed  in  silk  pajamas  which  Judkins  had  produced, 
Larry  was  in  the  softest  and  freshest  bed  that  had  ever 
held  him. 

But  sleep  did  not  come  to  Larry  for  a  long  time.  He 
lay  wondering  about  this  golden-haired,  poiseful  Miss 
Sherwood.  She  was  undoubtedly  the  woman  in  the  back 
of  Hunt's  life.  And  he  wondered  about  Hunt  —  who  he 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         87 

really  was  —  what  had  really  driven  him  into  this  strange 
exile.  And  he  wondered  about  Maggie  —  what  she  might 
be  doing  —  what  from  this  strange  new  vantage-point 
he  might  do  for  her  and  with  her.  And  he  wondered  how 
his  own  complex  situation  was  going  to  work  itself  out. 
And  still  wondering,  Larry  at  length  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN  Larry  awoke  the  next  morning,  he  blinked  for 
several  bewildered  moments  about  his  bedroom,  so  un- 
like his  cell  at  Sing  Sing  and  so  unlike  Hunt's  helter- 
skelter  studio  down  at  the  Duchess's  which  he  had  shared, 
before  he  realized  that  this  big,  airy  chamber  and  this 
miracle  of  a  bed  on  which  he  lay  were  realities  and  not 
a  mere  continuation  of  a  dream  of  fantastic  and  body- 
flattering  wealth. 

Then  his  mind  turned  back  a  page  in  the  book  of  his 
life  and  he  lay  considering  the  events  of  the  previous 
evening:  the  scene  with  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  and 
Maggie,  their  all  denouncing  him  as  a  police  stool-pigeon 
and  a  squealer,  and  Maggie's  defiant  departure  to  begin 
her  long-dreamed-of  career  as  a  leading-woman  and  per- 
haps star  in  what  she  saw  as  great  and  thrilling  adven- 
tures; his  own  enforced  and  frenzied  flight;  his  strange 
method  of  reaching  this  splendid  apartment ;  his  meeting 
with  the  handsome,  drink-befuddled  young  man  in  eve- 
ning clothes;  his  meeting  with  the  exquisitely  gowned 
patrician  Miss  Sherwood,  who  had  received  him  with  the 
poise  and  frank  friendliness  of  a  democratic  queen,  and 
had  immediately  ordered  him  off  to  bed. 

Strange,  all  of  these  things!  But  they  were  all  realities. 
And  in  this  new  set  of  circumstances  which  had  come  into 
being  in  a  night,  what  was  he  to  do? 

He  recalled  that  Miss  Sherwood  had  said  that  she  and 


88 ,       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

he  would  have  their  talk  that  morning.  He  pulled  his 
watch  from  under  his  pillow.  It  was  past  nine  o'clock. 
He  looked  about  him  for  clothes,  but  saw  only  a  bath- 
robe. Then  he  remembered  Judkins  carrying  off  his  rain- 
soaked  garments,  with  "Ring  for  me  when  you  wake  up, 
sir." 

Larry  found  an  electric  bell  button  dangling  over  the 
top  of  his  bed  by  a  silken  cord.  He  pushed  the  button 
and  waited.  Within  two  minutes  the  door  opened,  and 
Judkins  entered,  laden  with  fresh  garments. 

"Good-morning,  sir,"  said  Judkins.  "Your  own  clothes, 
and  some  shirts  and  other  things  I  've  borrowed  from 
Mr.  Dick.  How  will  you  have  your  bath,  sir  —  hot  or 
cold?" 

"Cold,"  said  the  bewildered  Larry. 

Judkins  disappeared  into  the  great  white-tiled  bath- 
room, there  was  the  rush  of  splashing  water  for  a  few 
moments,  then  silence,  and  Judkins  reappeared. 

"Your  bath  is  ready,  sir.  I've  laid  out  some  of  Mr. 
Dick's  razors.  How  soon  shall  I  bring  you  in  your  break- 
fast?" 

"In  about  twenty  minutes,"  said  Larry. 

Exactly  twenty  minutes  later  Judkins  carried  in  a 
tray,  and  set  it  on  a  table  beside  a  window  looking  down 
into  Park  Avenue.  "  Miss  Sherwood  asked  me  to  tell  you 
she  would  see  you  in  the  library  at  ten  o'clock,  sir  — 
where  she  saw  you  last  night,"  said  Judkins,  and  noise- 
lessly was  gone. 

Freshly  shaven,  tingling  from  his  bath,  with  a  sense  of 
being  garbed  flawlessly,  though  in  garments  partly  alien, 
Larry  addressed  himself  to  the  breakfast  of  grapefruit, 
omelette,  toast  and  coffee,  served  on  Sevres  china  with 
covers  of  old  silver.  In  his  more  prosperous  eras  Larry 
had  enjoyed  the  best  private  service  that  the  best  hotels 
in  New  York  had  to  sell;  but  their  best  had  been  coarse 
and  slovenly  compared  to  this.  He  would  eat  for  a  minute 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         89 

or  two  —  then  get  up  and  look  at  his  carefully  dressed 
self  in  the  full-length  mirror  —  then  gaze  from  his  high, 
exclusive  window  down  into  Park  Avenue  with  its  stream 
of  cars  comfortably  carrying  their  occupants  toward 
ten  o'clock  jobs  in  Wall  or  Broad  Streets  —  and  then  he 
would  return  to  his  breakfast.  This  was  amazing  —  be- 
wildering ! 

He  was  toward  the  end  of  his  omelette  when  a  knock 
sounded  at  his  door.  Thinking  Judkins  had  returned,  he 
called,  "Come  in";  but  instead  of  Judkins  the  opening 
door  admitted  the  belligerent  young  man  in  rumpled  eve- 
ning clothes  of  the  previous  night.  Now  he  wore  a  silk 
dressing-gown  of  a  flamboyant  peacock  blue,  his  feet 
showed  bare  in  toe  slippers,  his  wavy,  yellowish  hair  had 
the  tousled  effect  of  a  very  recent  separation  from  a 
pillow.  A  cigarette  depended  from  the  corner  of  his 
mouth. 

Larry  started  to  rise.  But  the  young  man  arrested  the 
motion  with  a  gesture  of  mock  imperativeness. 

"Keep  your  seat,  fair  sir;  I  would  fain  have  speech 
with  thee."  He  crossed  and  sat  on  a  corner  of  Larry's 
table,  one  slippered  foot  dangling,  and  looked  Larry  over 
with  an  appraising  eye.  "Permit  me  to  remark,  sir,"  he 
continued  in  his  grand  manner,  "that  you  look  as  though 
you  might  be  some  one." 

" Is  that  what  you  wanted  to  tell  me,  Mr.  Sherwood?" 
queried  Larry. 

The  other's  grand  manner  vanished  and  he  grinned. 
"Forget  the  'Mr.  Sherwood,'  or  you'll  make  me  feel  not 
at  home  in  my  own  house,"  he  begged  with  humor- 
ous mournfulness.  "Call  me  Dick.  Everybody  else  does. 
That's  settled.  Now  to  the  reason  for  this  visitation  at 
such  an  ungodly  hour.  Sis  has  just  been  in  picking  on 
me.  Says  I  was  rude  to  you  last  night.  I  suppose  I  was. 
I  'd  had  several  from  my  private  stock  early  in  the  eve- 
ning; and  several  more  around  in  jovial  Manhattan 


90         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

joints  where  prohibition  has  n't  checked  the  flow  of  hap- 
piness if  you  know  the  countersign.  The  cumulative  ef- 
fect you  saw,  and  were  the  victim  of.  I  apologize,  sir." 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  — " 

"Dick  is  what  I  said,"  interrupted  the  other. 

"Dick,  then.   It's  all  right.   I  understand." 

"Thanks.  I'll  call  you  Old  Captain  Nemo  for  short. 
Sis  did  n't  tell  me  your  name  or  anything  about  you,  and 
she  said  I  was  n't  to  ask  you  questions.  But  whatever 
Isabel  does  is  usually  one  hundred  per  cent  right.  She  said 
I  'd  probably  be  seeing  a  lot  of  you,  so  I  '11  introduce  my- 
self. You'd  learn  all  about  me  from  some  one  else,  any- 
how, so  you  might  as  well  learn  about  me  from  me  and  get 
antimpartial  and  unbiased  statement.  Clever  of  me,  ain't 
it,  to  beat 'em  to  it?" 

Larry  found  himself  smiling  back  into  the  ingratiating, 
irresponsible,  boyish  face.  "I  suppose  so." 

"I'll  shoot  you  the  whole  works  at  once.  Name, 
Richard  Livingston  Sherwood.  Years,  twenty-four,  but 
alleged  not  yet  to  have  reached  the  age  of  discretion. 
One  of  our  young  flying  heroes  who  helped  save  France 
and  make  the  world  safe  for  something  or  other  by  flap- 
ping his  wings  over  the  endless  alkali  of  Texas.  Occupa- 
tion, gentleman  farmer." 

"You  a  farmer!"  exclaimed  Larry. 

"A  gentleman  farmer,"  corrected  Dick.  "The  differ- 
ence between  a  farmer  and  a  gentleman  farmer,  Captain 
Nemo,  is  that  a  gentleman  farmer  makes  no  profit  on  his 
crops.  Now  my  friends  say  I'm  losing  an  awful  lot  of 
money  and  am  sowing  an  awfully  big  crop.  And  according 
to  them,  instead  of  practicing  sensible  crop  rotation,  I  'm 
a  foolish  one-crop  farmer — and  my  one  crop  is  wild  oats." 

"I  see,"  said  Larry. 

"Of  course  I  do  do  a  little  something  else  on  the  side. 
Avocation.  I  'm  in  the  brokerage  business.  But  my  chief 
business  is  looking  after  the  Sherwood  interests.  You  see, 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         91 

my  mother  —  father  died  ten  years  before  she  did  —  my 
mother,  being  dotty  about  the  innate  superiority  of  the 
male,  left  me  in  control  of  practically  everything,  and  I  do 
as  well  by  it  as  the  more  important  occupation  of  farming 
will  permit.  Which  completes  the  racy  history  of  myself." 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  reciprocate." 

"That's  all  right,  Captain  Nemo.  There's  plenty  of 
time  —  and  it  doesn't  make  any  difference,  anyhow." 
For  all  his  light  manner  and  careless  chatter,  Larry  had  a 
sense  that  Dick  had  been  sizing  him  up  all  this  while ;  that, 
in  fact,  to  do  this  was  the  real  purpose  of  the  present  call. 
Dick  slipped  to  his  feet.  "  If  you  're  just  now  a  bit  shy  on 
duds,  as  I  understand  you  are,  why,  we're  about  the  same 
size.  Tell  Judkins  what  you  want,  and  make  him  give  you 
plenty.  What  time  you  got?" 

"Just  ten  o'clock." 

"By  heck  —  time  a  farmer  was  pulling  on  his  overalls 
and  going  forth  to  his  dew-gemmed  toil!" 

"And  time  for  me  to  be  seeing  your  sister,"  said  Larry, 
rising. 

"Come  on.  I'm  a  good  seneschal,  or  major  domo,  or 
what  you  like  —  and  I  '11  usher  you  into  her  highness's 
presence." 

A  moment  later  Larry  was  pushed  through  the  library 
door  and  Dick  announced  in  solemn  tone: 

"Senorita  —  Mademoiselle  —  our  serene,  revered,  and 
most  high  sister  Isabel,  permit  us  to  present  our  newest 
and  most  charming  friend,  Captain  Nemo." 

"  Dick,"  exclaimed  Miss  Sherwood,  "get  out  of  here 
and  get  yourself  into  some  clothes!" 

"  Listen  to  that ! "  complained  Dick.  "  She  still  talks  to 
me  as  though  I  were  her  small  brother.  Next  thing  she  '11 
be  ordering  me  to  wash  behind  my  ears!" 

"Get  out,  and  shut  the  door  after  you!" 

The  reply  was  Dick's  stately  exit  and  the  sharp  closing 
of  the  door. 


92          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Has  Dick  been  talking  to  you  about  himself?"  asked 
Miss  Sherwood. 

"Yes." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

Larry  gave  the  substance  of  the  autobiography  which 
Dick  had  volunteered. 

"  Part  of  that  is  more  than  the  truth,  part  less  than  the 
truth,"  Miss  Sherwood  remarked.  "But  this  morning 
we  were  to  have  a  real  talk  about  your  affairs,  and  let 's 
get  to  the  subject." 

She  had  motioned  him  to  a  chair  beside  the  quaint 
old  desk,  and  they  were  now  sitting  face  to  face.  Isabel 
Sherwood  looked  as  much  the  finished  patrician  as  on  the 
evening  before,  and  with  that  easy,  whimsical  humor  and 
the  direct  manner  of  the  person  who  is  sure  of  herself; 
and  in  the  sober,  disillusioning  daylight  she  had  no  less  of 
beauty  than  had  seemed  hers  in  the  softer  lighting  of  their 
first  meeting.  The  clear,  fresh  face  with  its  violet-blue 
eyes  was  gazing  at  him  intently.  Larry  realized  that  she 
was  looking  into  the  very  soul  of  him,  and  he  sat  silent 
during  this  estimate  which  he  recognized  she  had  the 
right  to  make. 

"Mr.  Hunt  has  written  me  the  main  facts  about  you, 
certainly  the  worst,"  she  said  finally.  "You  need  tell  me 
nothing  further,  if  you  prefer  not  to  do  so;  but  it  might  be 
helpful  if  I  knew  more  of  the  details." 

Larry  felt  that  there  was  no  information  he  was  not 
willing  to  give  this  clear-eyed,  charming  woman;  and  so 
he  told  her  all  that  had  happened  since  his  return  from 
Sing  Sing,  including  his  falling  in  love  with  Maggie,  the 
nature  of  their  conflict,  her  departure  into  the  ways  of 
her  ambition. 

"You  are  certainly  facing  a  lot  of  difficult  propositions." 
Miss  Sherwood  checked  them  off  on  her  fingers.  "The 
police  are  after  you  —  your  old  friends  are  after  you  — 
you  do  not  dare  be  caught.  You  want  to  clear  yourself  — • 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         93 

you  want  to  make  a  business  success  —  you  want  to 
eradicate  Maggie's  present  ambitions  and  remove  her 
from  her  present  influences." 

"That  is  the  correct  total,"  said  Larry. 

"  Certainly  a  large  total !  Of  them  all,  which  is  the  most 
important  item?" 

Larry  considered.  "Maggie,"  he  confessed.  "But 
Maggie  really  includes  all  the  others.  To  have  any  in- 
fluence with  her,  I  must  get  out  of  the  power  of  the  police, 
I  must  overcome  her  belief  that  I  am  a  stool  and  a  squealer, 
and  I  must  prove  to  her  that  I  can  make  a  success  by 
going  straight." 

"Just  so.  And  all  these  things  you  must  do  while  a 
fugitive  in  hiding." 

"Exactly.  Or  else  not  do  them." 

"  H'm ! . . .  The  most  pressing  thing,  I  judge,  is  to  have  a 
safe  and  permanent  place  to  hide,  and  to  have  work  which 
may  lead  to  an  opportunity  to  prove  yourself  a  success." 

"Yes." 

"Mr.  Hunt's  O.K.  on  you  would  be  sufficient,  in  any 
event,  and  he  has  given  that  O.K.,"  Miss  Sherwood  said 
in  her  even  voice.  "Besides,  my  own  judgment  prompts 
me  to  believe  in  your  truth  and  your  sincerity.  I  have 
been  thinking  the  matter  over  since  I  saw  you  last  night. 
I  therefore  ask  you  to  remain  here,  never  leaving  the 
apartment  — " 

"Miss  Sherwood!"  he  ejaculated. 

"And  a  little  later,  when  we  go  out  to  our  place  on 
Long  Island,  you'll  have  more  freedom.  For  the  present 
you  will  be,  to  the  servants  and  any  other  persons  who 
may  chance  to  come  in,  Mr.  Brandon,  a  second  cousin 
staying  with  us;  and  your  explanation  for  never  ventur- 
ing forth  can  be  that  you  are  convalescing  after  an  opera- 
tion. Perhaps  you  can  think  of  a  plan  whereby  later  on 
you  might  occasionally  leave  the  house  without  too  great 
risk  to  yourself." 


94         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Yes.  The  risk  comes  from  the  police,  and  from  some 
of  my  old  friends  and  the  gangsters  they  have  enlisted. 
So  long  as  they  believe  me  in  New  York,  they'll  all  be 
on  the  lookout  for  me  every  moment.  If  they  believed 
me  out  of  New  York,  they  would  all  discontinue  their 
vigilance.  If  —  if  —  But  perhaps  you  would  not  care  to 
do  so  much." 

"Goon." 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  write  a  letter  to  some  friend 
in  Chicago,  requesting  the  friend  to  post  an  enclosed 
letter  written  by  me?" 

"Certainly." 

"My  handwriting  would  be  disguised  —  but  a  person 
who  really  knows  my  writing  would  penetrate  the  at- 
tempted disguise  and  recognize  it  as  mine.  My  letter 
would  be  addressed  to  my  grandmother  requesting  her 
to  express  my  recent  purchase  of  forfeited  pledges  to  me 
in  Chicago.  A  clever  person  reading  the  letter  would 
be  certain  I  was  asking  her  to  send  me  my  clothes." 

"What's  the  point  to  that?" 

"One  detail  of  the  police's  search  for  me  will  be  to  open 
secretly,  with  the  aid  of  the  postal  authorities,  all  mail 
addressed  to  my  grandmother.  They  will  steam  open 
this  letter  about  my  clothes,  then  seal  it  and  let  it  be  de- 
livered. But  they  will  have  learned  that  I  have  escaped 
them  and  am  in  Chicago.  They  will  drop  the  hunt  here 
and  telegraph  the  Chicago  police.  And  of  course  the  news 
will  leak  through  to  my  old  friends,  and  they'll  also  stop 
looking  for  me  in  New  York." 

"I  see." 

"And  enclosed  in  another  letter  written  by  you,  I'll 
send  an  order,  also  to  be  posted  in  Chicago,  to  a  good 
friend  of  mine  asking  him  to  call  at  the  express  office,  get 
my  clothes,  and  hold  them  until  I  call  or  send  for  them. 
When  he  goes  and  asks  for  the  clothes,  the  Chicago  police 
will  get  him  and  find  the  order  on  him.  They  '11  have  no 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         95 

charge  at  all  against  him,  but  they'll  have  further  proof 
that  I'm  in  Chicago  or  some  place  in  the  Middle  West. 
The  effect  will  be  definitely  to  transfer  the  search  from 
New  York." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  repeated  Miss  Sherwood.  "  Go  ahead  and 
do  it;  I  '11  help  you.  But  for  the  present  you 've  got  to  re- 
main right  here  in  the  apartment,  as  I  said.  And  later, 
when  you  think  the  letters  have  had  their  effect,  you  must 
use  the  utmost  caution." 

"Certainly,"  agreed  Larry. 

"Now  as  to  your  making  a  start  in  business.  I  suspect 
that  my  affairs  are  in  a  very  bad  shape.  Things  were 
left  to  my  brother,  as  he  told  you.  I  have  a  lot  of  papers, 
all  kinds  of  accounts,  which  he  has  brought  to  me  and 
he 's  bringing  me  a  great  many  more.  I  can't  make  head 
or  tail  of  them,  and  I  think  my  brother  is  about  as  much 
befuddled  as  I  am.  I  believe  only  an  expert  can  under- 
stand them.  Mr.  Hunt  says  you  have  a  very  keen  mind 
for  such  matters.  I  wish  you'd  take  charge  of  these 
papers,  and  try  to  straighten  them  out." 

"Miss  Sherwood,"  Larry  said  slowly,  "you  know  my 
record  and  yet  you  risk  trusting  me  with  your  affairs?" 

"Not  that  I  wouldn't  take  the  risk  —  but  whatever 
there  is  to  steal,  some  one  else  has  already  stolen  it,  or 
will  steal  it.  Your  work  will  be  to  discover  thefts  or  mis- 
takes, and  to  prevent  thefts  or  mistakes  if  you  can.  You 
see  I  am  not  placing  any  actual  control  over  stealable 
property  in  you  —  not  yet.  .  .  .  Well,  what  do  you  say?" 

"  I  can  only  say,  Miss  Sherwood,  that  you  are  more 
than  good,  and  that  I  am  more  than  grateful,  and  that  I 
shall  do  my  best!" 

Miss  Sherwood  regarded  him  thoughtfully  for  a  long 
space.  Then  she  said:  "I  am  going  to  place  something 
further  in  your  hands,  for  if  you  are  as  clever  as  I  think 
you  are,  and  if  life  has  taught  you  as  much  as  I  think  it 
has,  I  believe  you  can  help  me  a  lot.  My  brother  Dick  is 


96         CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

wild  and  reckless.  I  wish  you  'd  look  out  for  him  and  try 
to  hold  him  in  check  where  you  can.  That  is,  if  this  is  n't 
placing  too  great  a  duty  on  you." 

"That's  not  a  duty  —  it's  a  compliment!" 

"Then  that  will  be  all  for  the  present.  I  '11  see  you  again 
in  an  hour  or  two,  when  I  shall  have  some  things  ready  to 
turn  over  to  you." 

Back  in  his  bedroom  Larry  walked  exultantly  to  and 
fro.  He  had  security !  And  at  last  he  had  a  chance  —  per- 
haps the  chance  he  had  been  yearning  for  through  which 
he  was  ultimately  to  prove  himself  a  success !  .  .  . 

He  wondered  yet  more  about  Miss  Sherwood.  And 
again  about  her  and  Hunt.  Miss  Sherwood  was  clever, 
gracious,  everything  a  man  could  want  in  a  woman ;  and 
he  guessed  that  behind  her  humorous  references  to  Hunt 
there  was  a  deep  feeling  for  the  big  painter  who  was  living 
almost  like  a  tramp  in  the  attic  of  the  Duchess's  little 
house.  And  Larry  knew  Miss  Sherwood  was  the  only 
woman  in  Hunt's  life;  Hunt  had  said  as  much.  They 
were  everything  to  each  other;  they  trusted  each  other. 
Yet  there  was  some  wide  breach  between  the  two;  evi- 
dently his  own  crisis  had  forced  the  only  communication 
which  had  passed  between  the  two  for  months.  He  won- 
dered what  that  breach  could  be,  and  what  had  been  its 
cause. 

And  then  an  idea  began  to  open  its  possibilities.  What 
a  splendid  return,  if,  somehow,  he  could  do  something 
that  would  help  bring  together  these  two  persons  who 
had  befriended  him!  .  .  . 

But  most  of  the  time,  while  he  waited  for  Miss  Sher- 
wood to  summon  him  again,  he  wondered  about  Maggie. 
Yes,  as  he  had  told  Miss  Sherwood,  Maggie  was  the  most 
important  problem  of  his  life:  all  his  many  other  prob- 
lems were  important  only  in  the  degree  that  they  aided 
or  hindered  the  solution  of  Maggie.  Where  was  she?  — 
what  was  she  doing? — how  was  he,  in  this  pleasant  prison 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         97 

which  he  dared  not  leave,  ever  to  overcome  her  scorn  of 
him,  and  ever  to  divert  her  from  that  dangerous  career 
in  which  her  proud  and  excited  young  vision  saw  only  the 
brilliant  and  profitable  adventure  of  high  romance? 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEN  Maggie  rode  away  forever  from  the  house  of  the 
Duchess  with  Barney  Palmer  and  her  father,  after  the 
denunciation  of  Larry  by  the  three  of  them  as  a  stool  and 
a  squealer,  she  was  the  thrilled  container  of  about  as  many 
diversified  emotions  as  often  bubble  and  swirl  in  a  young 
girl  at  one  and  the  same  time.  There  was  anger  and  con- 
tempt toward  Larry :  Larry  who  had  weakly  thrown  aside 
a  career  in  which  he  was  a  master,  and  who  had  added 
to  that  bad  the  worse  of  being  a  traitor.  There  was  the 
lifting  sense  that  at  last  she  had  graduated;  that  at  last 
she  was  set  free  from  the  drab  and  petty  things  of  life; 
that  at  last  she  was  riding  forth  into  the  great  brilliant 
world  in  which  everything  happened  —  forth  into  the  fas- 
cinating, bewildering  Unknown. 

Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  talked  to  each  other  as  the 
taxicab  bumped  through  the  cobbled  streets,  their  talk 
being  for  the  most  part  maledictions  against  Larry 
Brainard.  But  their  words  were  meaningless  sounds  to 
the  silent  Maggie,  all  of  whose  throbbing  faculties  were 
just  then  merged  into  an  excited  endeavor  to  perceive  the 
glorious  outlines  of  the  destiny  toward  which  she  rode. 
However,  as  the  cab  turned  into  Lafayette  Place  and 
rolled  northward,  her  curiosity  about  the  unknown  be- 
came conscious  and  articulate. 

"Where  am  I  going?"  she  asked. 

"  First  of  all  to  a  nice,  quiet  hotel."  It  was  Barney  who 
answered;  somehow  Barney  had  naturally  moved  into  the 
position  of  leader,  and  as  naturally  her  father  had  receded 


98          CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

to  second  place.  "We've  got  everything  fixed,  Maggie. 
Rooms  reserved,  and  a  companion  waiting  there  for  you." 

"A  companion!"  exclaimed  Maggie.    "What  for?" 

"To  teach  you  the  fine  points  of  manners,  and  to  help 
you  buy  clothes.  She 's  a  classy  bird  all  right.  I  advertised 
and  picked  her  out  of  a  dozen  who  applied." 

"Barney!"  breathed  Maggie.  She  was  silent  a  dazed 
moment,  then  asked:  "Just  —  just  what  am  I  going  to 
do?" 

"Listen,  Maggie:  I'll  spill  you  the  whole  idea.  I'd 
have  told  you  before,  but  it's  developed  rather  sudden, 
and  I've  not  had  a  real  chance,  and,  besides,  I  knew 
you  'd  be  all  for  it.  Jimmie  and  I  have  canned  that  stock- 
selling  scheme  for  good  —  unless  an  easy  chance  for  it 
develops  later.  Our  big  idea  now  is  to  put  you  across!" 
Barney  believed  that  there  might  still  remain  in  Maggie 
some  lurking  admiration  for  Larry,  some  influence  of 
Larry  over  her,  and  to  eradicate  these  completely  by  the 
brilliance  of  what  he  offered  was  the  chief  purpose  of  his 
further  quick-spoken  words.  "To  put  you  across  in  the 
biggest  kind  of  a  way,  Maggie !  A  beautiful,  clever  woman 
who  knows  how  to  use  her  brains,  and  who  has  brainy 
handling,  can  bring  in  more  money,  and  in  a  safer  way, 
than  any  dozen  men!  And  I  tell  you,  Maggie,  I'll  make 
you  a  star!" 

"Barney!  .  .  .  But  you  have  n't  told  me  just  what  I  'm 
to  do." 

"The  first  thing  will  be  just  a  try-out;  it'll  help  finish 
your  education.  I've  got  it  doped  out,  but  I'll  not  tell 
you  till  later.  The  main  idea  is  not  to  use  you  in  just  one 
game,  Maggie,  but  to  finish  you  off  so  you'll  fit  into 
dozens  of  games  —  be  good  year  after  year.  A  big  actress 
who  can  step  right  into  any  big  part  that  comes  her  way. 
That's  what  pays!  I  tell  you,  Maggie,  there's  no  other 
such  good,  steady  proposition  on  earth  as  the  right  kind  of 
woman.  And  that's  what  you're  going  to  be!" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND         99 

Maggie  had  heard  much  this  same  talk  often  before. 
Then  it  had  been  vague,  and  had  dealt  with  an  indefinite 
future.  Now  she  was  too  dazzled  by  this  picture  of  near 
events  which  the  eager  Barney  was  drawing  to  be  able  to 
make  any  comment. 

"I'll  be  right  behind  you  in  everything,  and  so  will 
Jimmie,"  Barney  continued  in  his  exciting  manner  — 
"but  you'll  be  the  party  out  in  front  who  really  puts  the 
proposition  over.  And  we'll  keep  to  things  where  the 
police  can't  touch  us.  Get  a  man  with  coin  and  position 
tangled  up  right  in  a  deal  with  a  woman,  and  he'll  never 
let  out  a  peep  and  he  '11  come  across  with  oodles  of  money. 
Hundreds  of  ways  of  working  that.  A  strong  point  about 
you,  Maggie,  is  you  have  no  police  record.  Neither  have 
I,  though  the  police  suspect  me  —  but,  as  I  said,  I'll 
keep  off  the  stage  as  much  as  I  can.  I  tell  you,  Maggie, 
we're  going  to  put  over  some  great  stuff!  Great,  I  tell 
you!" 

Maggie  felt  no  repugnance  to  what  had  been  said  and 
implied  by  Barney.  How  could  she,  when  since  her 
memory  began  she  had  lived  among  people  who  talked 
just  these  same  things?  To  Maggie  they  seemed  the 
natural  order.  At  that  moment  she  was  more  concerned 
by  a  fascinating  necessity  which  Barney's  flamboyant 
enterprise  entailed. 

"But  to  do  anything  like  that,  won't  I  need  clothes?" 

"You'll  need  'em,  and  you'll  have  'em!  You're  going 
to  have  one  of  the  swellest  outfits  that  ever  happened. 
You'll  make  Paris  ashamed  of  itself!" 

"No  use  blowing  the  whole  roll  on  Maggie's  clothes," 
put  in  Old  Jimmie,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 

Barney  turned  on  him  caustically,  almost  savagely. 
"You're  a  hell  of  a  father,  you  are  —  counting  the  pen- 
nies on  his  own  daughter !  I  told  you  this  was  no  piker's 
game,  and  you  agreed  to  it  —  so  cut  out  the  idea  you  're 
in  any  nickel-in-the-slot  business!" 


ioo       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Old  Jimmie  felt  physical  pain  at  the  thought  of  parting 
from  money  on  such  a  scale.  His  earlier  plans  concern- 
ing Maggie  had  never  contemplated  any  such  extrava- 
gance. But  he  was  silenced  by  the  dominant  force  behind 
Barney's  sarcasm. 

"Miss  Grierson  —  she's  your  companion  —  knows 
what 's  what  about  clothes,"  continued  Barney  to  Maggie. 
"Here's  the  dope  as  I've  handed  it  to  her.  You're  an 
orphan  from  the  West,  with  some  dough,  who's  come  to 
New  York  as  my  ward  and  Jimmie's  and  we  want  you  to 
learn  a  few  things.  To  her  and  to  any  new  people  we 
meet  I  'm  your  cousin  and  Jimmie  is  your  uncle.  You  've 
got  that  all  straight?" 

"Yes,"  said  Maggie. 

"You're  to  use  another  name.  I've  picked  out  Mar- 
garet Cameron  for  you.  We  can  call  you  Maggie  and  it 
won't  be  a  slip-up  —  see?  If  any  of  the  coppers  who 
know  you  should  tumble  on  to  you,  just  tell  'em  you 
dropped  your  own  name  so 's  to  get  clear  of  your  old  life. 
They  can't  do  anything  to  you.  And  tell  'em  you  in- 
herited a  little  coin;  that's  why  you're  living  so  swell. 
They  can't  do  anything  about  that  either.  .  .  .  Here's 
where  we  get  out.  Got  a  sitting-room,  two  bedrooms  and 
a  bath  hired  for  you  here.  But  we'll  soon  move  you  into 
a  classier  hotel." 

The  taxi  had  stopped  in  front  of  one  of  the  unpre- 
tentious, respectable  hotels  in  the  Thirties,  just  off 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  Maggie  followed  the  two  men  in. 
This  hotel  did,  indeed,  in  its  people,  its  furnishings,  its 
atmosphere,  seem  sober  and  commonplace  after  the  Ritz- 
more;  but  at  the  Ritzmore  she  had  been  merely  a  cigar- 
ette-girl, a  paid  onlooker  at  the  gayety  of  others.  Here 
she  was  a  real  guest  —  here  her  great  life  was  beginning ! 
Maggie's  heart  beat  wildly. 

Up  in  her  sitting-room  Barney  introduced  her  to 
Miss  Grierson,  then  departed  with  a  significant  look  at 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        101 

Old  Jimmie,  saying  he  would  return  presently  and 
leaving  Old  Jimmie  behind.  Old  Jimmie  withdrew  into 
a  corner,  turned  to  the  racing  part  of  the  Evening  Tele- 
gram, which,  with  the  corresponding  section  of  the 
Morning  Telegraph,  was  his  sole  reading,  and  left  Maggie 
to  the  society  of  Miss  Grierson. 

Maggie  studied  this  strange  new  being,  her  hired 
"companion,"  with  furtive  keenness;  and  after  a  few 
minutes,  though  she  was  shyly  obedient  in  the  manner 
of  an  untutored  orphan  from  the  West,  she  had  no  fear 
of  the  other.  Miss  Grierson  v/as  a  large,  flat-backed 
woman  who  was  on  the  descending  slope  of  middle  age. 
She  was  really  a  "gentlewoman,"  in  the  self-pitying  and 
self-praising  sense  in  which  those  who  advertise  them- 
selves as  such  use  that  word.  She  was  all  the  social 
forms,  all  the  proprieties.  She  was  deferentially  auto- 
cratic; her  voice  was  monotonously  dignified  and  cul- 
tured; and  she  was  tired,  which  she  had  a  right  to  be,  for 
she  had  been  in  this  business  of  being  a  gentlewomanly 
hired  aunt  to  raw  young  girls  for  over  a  quarter  of  a 
century. 

To  the  tired  but  practical  eye  of  Miss  Grierson,  here 
was  certainly  a  young  woman  who  needed  a  lot  of  work- 
ing over  to  make  into  a  lady.  And  though  weary  and 
unthrillable  as  an  old  horse,  Miss  Grierson  was  con- 
scientious, and  she  was  going  to  do  her  best. 

Maggie  made  a  swift  survey  of  her  new  home.  The 
rooms  were  just  ordinary  hotel  rooms,  furnished  with 
the  dingy,  wholesale  pretentiousness  of  hotels  of  the 
second  rate.  But  they  were  the  essence  of  luxury  com- 
pared to  her  one  room  at  the  Duchess's  with  its  view  of 
dreary  back  yards.  These  rooms  thrilled  her.  They 
were  her  first  material  evidence  that  she  was  now  ac- 
tually launched  upon  her  great  adventure. 

Maggie  had  dinner  in  her  sitting-room  with  Old 
Jimmie  and  Miss  Grierson  —  and  of  that  dinner,  medi- 


102        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

ocre  and  sloppy,  and  chilled  by  its  transit  of  twelve 
stories  from  the  kitchen,  Miss  Grierson,  by  way  of  an 
introductory  lesson,  made  an  august  function,  almost 
diagrammatic  in  its  educational  details.  After  the  din- 
ner, with  Miss  Grierson's  slow  and  formal  aid,  which 
consisted  mainly  in  passages  impressively  declaimed 
from  her  private  book  of  decorum,  Maggie  spent  two 
hours  in  unpacking  her  suitcase  and  trunk,  and  repacking 
her  scanty  wardrobe  in  drawers  of  the  chiffonier  and 
dressing-table;  a  task  which  Maggie,  left  to  herself, 
could  have  completed  in  ten  minutes. 

Maggie  was  still  at  this  task  in  her  bedroom  when  she 
heard  Barney  enter  her  sitting-room.  "He  got  away," 
she  heard  him  say  in  a  low  voice  to  Old  Jimmie. 

She  slipped  quickly  out  of  her  bedroom  and  closed 
the  door  behind  her.  An  undefined  something  had  sud- 
denly begun  to  throb  within  her. 

"Who  got  away,  Barney?"  she  demanded  in  a  hushed 
tone. 

Her  look  made  Barney  think  rapidly.  He  was  good 
at  quick  thinking,  was  Barney.  He  decided  to  tell  the 
truth  —  or  part  of  it. 

"Larry  Brainard." 

"Got  away  from  what?"  she  pursued. 

"The  police.  They  were  after  him  on  some  charge. 
And  some  of  his  pals  were  after  him,  too.  They  were  out 
to  get  him  because  he  had  squealed  on  Red  Hannigan 
and  Jack  Rosenfeldt.  Both  parties  were  closing  in  on 
him  at  about  the  same  time.  But  Larry  got  a  tip  some- 
how, and  made  his  get-away." 

"When  did  it  happen?" 

"Must  have  happened  a  little  time  after  we  all  left 
the  Duchess's." 

"But  —  but,  Barney  —  how  did  you  learn  it  so 
soon?" 

"Just  ran  into  Officer  Ga vegan  over  on  Broadway 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        103 

and  he  told  me,"  lied  Barney.  He  preferred  not  to  tell 
her  that  he  had  been  upon  the  scene  with  Little  Mick 
and  Lefty  Ed;  for  the  third  figure  which  Larry  had  de- 
scried through  the  misty  shadows  had  indeed  been  Bar- 
ney Palmer.  Also  Barney  preferred  not  to  tell  what  fur- 
ther subtle  share  he  had  had  in  the  causes  for  Larry's 
flight. 

"Do  you  think  he  —  he  made  a  safe  get-away?" 

"Safe  for  a  few  hours.  Ga vegan  told  me  they'd  have 
him  rounded  up  by  noon  to-morrow."  Barney  was  more 
conscious  of  Maggie's  interest  than  was  Maggie  herself, 
and  again  was  desirous  of  destroying  it  or  diverting  it. 
"Generally  I'm  for  the  other  fellow  against  the  police. 
But  this  time  I  'm  all  for  the  coppers.  I  hope  they  land 
Larry  —  he 's  got  it  coming  to  him.  Remember  that  he 's 
a  stool  and  a  squealer." 

And  swiftly  Barney  switched  the  subject.  "Let's  be 
moving  along,  Jimmie." 

He  drew  Maggie  out  into  the  hall,  to  make  more  cer- 
tain that  Miss  Grierson  would  not  overhear.  "Well, 
Maggie,"  he  exulted,  "haven't  I  made  good  so  far  in 
my  bargain  to  put  you  over?" 

"Yes." 

"Of  course  we're  going  slow  at  first.  That's  how 
you've  got  to  handle  big  deals  —  careful.  But  you'll 
sure  be  a  knock-out  when  that  she-undertaker  in  there 
gets  you  rigged  out  in  classy  clothes.  Then  the  curtain 
will  go  up  on  the  real  show  —  and  it 's  going  to  be  a  big 
show  —  and  you'll  be  the  hit  of  the  piece!" 

With  that  incitement  to  Maggie's  imagination  Barney 
left  her;  and  Old  Jimmie  followed,  furtively  giving 
Maggie  a  brief,  uncertain  look. 


104       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  BLOCK  away  from  the  hotel  Barney  parted  from  Old 
Jimmie.  For  a  space  Barney  thought  of  his  partner. 
Barney  had  quick  eyes  which  were  quite  capable  of  taking 
in  two  things  at  once;  and  while  he  had  seen  the  excited 
glow  his  final  speech  had  brought  back  into  Maggie's 
face,  he  had  also  caught  that  swift  look  of  uncertainty 
in  the  lean,  cunning  face  of  Old  Jimmie:  a  look  of  one 
who  is  eager  to  go  on,  yet  sees  himself  frustrated  by  his 
own  eagerness.  To  Barney  it  was  a  puzzling,  suspicious 
look. 

As  Barney  made  his  way  toward  a  harbor  of  refresh- 
ment he  wondered  about  Old  Jimmie  —  not  in  the  man- 
ner Larry  had  wondered  about  a  father  bringing  his 
daughter  up  into  crooked  ways  —  but  he  wondered  what 
kind  of  a  man  beneath  his  shrewd,  yielding,  placating 
manner  Old  Jimmie  really  was,  how  far  he  was  to  be 
trusted,  whether  he  was  in  this  game  on  the  level  or 
whether  he  was  playing  some  very  secret  hand  of  his 
own.  Though  he  had  known  and  worked  with  Old  Jimmie 
for  years,  Barney  had  never  been  admitted  to  the  inner 
chambers  of  the  older  man's  character.  He  sensed  that 
there  were  hidden  rooms  and  twisting  passages;  and  of 
this  much  he  was  certain,  that  Old  Jimmie  was  sly  and 
saturnine. 

Well,  he  would  be  on  guard  that  Old  Jimmie  did  n't 
put  anything  over  on  your  obliging  servant,  Barney 
Palmer! 

This  was  the  era  of  legal  prohibition,  but  thus  far 
Barney  had  not  been  severely  discommoded  by  the 
action  of  the  representatives  of  America's  free  institu- 
tions in  Washington,  for  Barney  knew  his  New  York.  In 
an  ex-saloon  on  Sixth  Avenue,  which  nominally  sold  only 
the  soft  drinks  permitted  by  the  wise  men  of  the  Capital, 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        105 

Barney  leaned  at  his  ease  upon  the  bar  and  remarked: 
"Give  me  some  of  the  real  stuff,  Tim,  and  forget  that 
eye-dropper  the  boss  bought  you  last  week."  Barney  had 
a  drink  of  the  real  stuff,  and  then  another  drink,  in  the 
measuring  of  neither  of  which  had  an  eye-dropper  been 
involved. 

After  that,  much  heartened,  he  put  two  dollars  upon 
the  bar  and  went  his  way.  His  course  took  the  dapper 
Barney  into  three  of  the  gayest  restaurants  in  the  Times 
Square  section ;  and  in  these  Barney  paused  long  enough 
to  speak  to  a  few  after-theater  supper-parties.  For  this 
was  the  hour  when  Barney  paid  his  social  calls;  he  was 
very  strict  with  himself  upon  this  point.  Barney  was 
really  by  way  of  being  a  rising  figure  in  this  particular 
circle  of  New  York  society  composed  of  people  who  had 
or  believed  they  had  an  interest  in  the  theater,  of  ex- 
pensively gowned  women  the  foreground  of  whose  lives 
was  most  attractive,  but  whose  background  was  perhaps 
wisely  kept  out  of  the  picture,  and  of  moneyed  young 
men  who  gloried  in  the  idea  that  they  were  living  the 
life.  These  social  calls  from  gay  table  to  gay  table,  at  all 
of  which  Barney  was  welcome  —  for  here  Barney  showed 
only  his  most  attractive  surfaces,  his  most  brilliant  facets 
—  were  in  truth  a  very  important  part  of  Barney's  busi- 


A  little  later,  alone  at  a  corner  table  in  a  quieter 
restaurant,  Barney  was  eating  his  supper  and  making  an 
inventory  of  his  prospects.  He  was  in  a  very  exultant 
mood.  The  whiskey  he  had  drunk  had  given  broad 
wings  to  his  self-satisfaction;  and  what  he  was  now  sip- 
ping from  his  tea-cup  —  it  was  not  tea,  for  Barney  was 
on  the  proper  terms  with  his  waiter  here  —  this  draught 
from  his  tea-cup  tipped  these  broad  wings  at  a  yet  more 
soaring  angle. 

Yes,  he  had  certainly  put  it  over  so  far.  And  Maggie 
would  certainly  prove  a  winner.  Those  fair  women  he 


106        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

had  chatted  with  as  he  had  moved  from  table  to  table, 
why,  they'd  be  less  than  dirt  compared  to  Maggie  when 
Maggie  was  rigged  out  and  readied  up  and  the  stage  was 
set.  And  it  had  been  he,  Barney  Palmer,  who  had  been 
the  first  to  discover  Maggie's  latent  possibilities ! 

He  had  an  eye  beyond  mere  surfaces,  had  Barney.  He 
had  used  women  in  the  past  in  putting  over  many  of  his 
more  private  transactions  (and  had  done  so  partly  for  the 
reason  that  using  women  so  was  eminently  "safe"  —  this 
despite  his  violent  outburst  of  sneering  disdain  at  Larry 
when  the  latter  had  spoken  of  safety) :  some  of  them  pro- 
fessional sharpers,  some  unscrupulous  actresses  of  the 
lower  flight  —  such  women  as  he  had  just  chatted  with 
in  the  restaurants  where  he  had  made  his  brief  visits. 
But  such,  he  now  recognized,  were  rather  blasees,  rather 
too  obvious.  They  were  the  blown  rose.  But  Maggie  was 
fresh,  and  once  she  was  properly  broken  in,  she  would  be 
his  perfect  instrument.  Yes,  perfect! 

Barney's  plans  soared  on.  Some  day,  when  it  fitted  in 
just  right  with  his  plans,  he  was  going  to  marry  Maggie. 
It  was  only  recently  that  he  had  seen  her  full  charms,  and 
still  more  recently  that  he  had  determined  upon  marriage. 
That  decision  had  materially  altered  certain  details  of 
the  career  Barney  had  blue-printed  for  himself.  Barney 
had  long  regarded  marriage  as  an  asset  for  himself;  a 
valuable  resource  which  he  must  hold  in  reserve  and  not 
liquidate,  or  capitalize,  until  his  own  market  was  at  its 
peak.  He  knew  that  he  was  good-looking,  an  excellent 
dancer,  that  he  had  the  metropolitan  finish.  He  had 
calculated  that  sometime  some  rich  girl,  perhaps  from 
the  West,  who  did  not  know  the  world  too  well,  would 
fall  under  the  spell  of  his  charms;  and  he  would  marry 
her  promptly  while  she  was  still  infatuated,  before  she 
could  learn  too  much  about  him.  Such  had  been  Barney's 
idea  of  marriage  for  himself;  which  is  very  similar  to 
ideas  held  by  thousands  of  gentlemen,  young  and  other- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        107 

wise,  in  this  broad  land  of  ours,  who  consider  themselves 
neither  law-breakers  nor  adventurers. 

But  that  was  all  changed  now.  Now  it  was  Maggie, 
though  Maggie  in  pursuit  of  their  joint  advantage  might 
possibly  first  have  to  go  through  the  marriage  ceremony 
with  some  other  man.  Of  course,  a  very,  very  rich  man! 
Barney  already  had  this  man  marked.  He  hoped,  though, 
they  would  not  have  to  go  so  far  as  marriage.  However, 
he  was  willing  to  wait  his  proper  turn.  As  he  had  told 
Maggie,  you  could  not  put  over  a  big  thing  in  a  hurry. 

As  for  Larry,  he'd  certainly  handled  that  business  in 
a  swell  fashion!  He  "d  certainly  put  a  crimp  in  what  had 
been  developing  between  Larry  and  Maggie.  And  he'd 
get  Larry  in  time,  too.  The  drag-net  was  too  large  and 
close  of  mesh  for  Larry  to  hope  to  escape  it.  The  word 
he'd  slipped  that  boob  Gavegan  had  sure  done  the 
business!  And  the  indirect  way  he  had  tipped  off  the 
police  about  Red  Hannigan  and  Jack  Rosenfeldt  and 
had  then  made  his  pals  think  Larry  had  squealed  —  that 
was  sure  playing  the  game,  too!  Jack  and  Red  would 
get  off  easy  —  there  was  nothing  on  them;  but  little  old 
Barney  Palmer  had  certainly  used  his  bean  in  the  way 
he  had  set  the  machinery  of  the  police  and  the  under- 
world in  motion  against  Larry! 

While  other  occupants  of  the  caf6,  particularly  the 
women,  stole  looks  at  the  handsome,  flawlessly  dressed, 
interesting-looking  Barney,  Barney  had  yet  another  of 
those  concoctions  which  the  discreet  waiter  served  in  a 
tea-cup.  He'd  done  a  great  little  job,  you  bet!  Not  an- 
other man  in  New  York  could  have  done  better.  He  was 
sure  going  to  put  Maggie  across!  And  in  doing  so,  he 
was  going  to  do  what  was  right  by  yours  truly. 

All  seemed  perfect  in  Barney's  world.  .  .  . 

And  while  Barney  sat  exulting  over  triumphs  already 
achieved  and  those  inevitably  to  be  achieved,  Maggie 
lay  in  her  new  bed  dreaming  exultant  dreams  of  her  own : 


io8       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

heedless  of  the  regular  snoring  which  resounded  in  the 
adjoining  room  —  for  the  excellent  Miss  Grierson,  while 
able  to  keep  her  every  act  in  perfect  form  while  in  the 
conscious  state,  unfortunately  when  unconscious  had  no 
more  control  of  the  goings-on  of  her  mortal  functions 
than  the  lowliest  washwoman.  Maggie's  flights  of  fancy 
circled  round  and  round  Larry.  She  stifled  any  excuses 
or  insurgent  yearnings  for  him.  He  'd  deserved  what  he 
had  got.  Already,  contrary  to  his  predictions,  she  had 
made  a  tremendous  advance  into  her  brilliant  future. 
She  would  show  him!  Yes,  she  would  show  him!  Oh, 
but  she  was  going  to  do  things ! 

But  while  she  dreamed  thus,  shaping  a  magnificent 
destiny  —  an  independent,  self-engineered  young  woman, 
so  very,  very  confident  of  the  great  future  she  was  going 
to  achieve  through  the  supremacy  of  her  own  will  and 
her  own  abilities  —  no  slightest  surmise  came  into  her 
mind  that  Barney  Palmer  was  making  plans  by  which 
her  will  was  to  count  as  naught  and  by  which  he  was  to 
be  the  master  of  her  fate,  and  that  the  furtive,  yielding 
Old  Jimmie  was  also  dreaming  a  patient  dream  in  which 
she  was  to  be  a  mere  chess-piece  which  was  to  capture  a 
long-cherished  game. 

And  yet,  after  all,  Maggie's  dreams,  aside  from  the 
peculiar  twist  life  had  given  them,  were  fundamentally 
just  the  ordinary  dreams  of  youth :  of  willful  confident 
youth,  to  whom  but  a  small  part  of  the  world  has  yet 
been  opened,  who  in  fact  does  not  yet  half  know  its  own 
nature. 


CHAPTER  XV 

No  prison  could  have  been  more  agreeable  —  that  is, 
no  prison  from  which  Maggie  was  omitted  —  than  this 
in  which  Larry  was  now  confined.  He  had  the  run  of  the 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        109 

apartment;  Dick  Sherwood  outfitted  him  liberally  with 
clothing  from  his  superabundance  of  the  best;  Judkins 
and  the  other  servants  treated  him  as  the  member  of  the 
family  which  they  had  been  informed  he  was;  the  lively 
Dick,  with  his  puppy-like  friendliness,  asked  never  an 
uncomfortable  question,  and  placed  Larry  almost  on  the 
footing  of  a  chum;  and  the  whimsically  smiling  Miss 
Sherwood  treated  Larry  exactly  as  she  might  have 
treated  any  well-bred  gentleman  and  in  every  detail 
made  good  on  her  promise  to  give  him  a  chance.  In  fact, 
in  all  his  life  Larry  had  never  lived  so  well. 

As  for  Miss  Sherwood's  aunt,  a  sister  of  Miss  Sher- 
wood's mother  and  a  figure  of  pale,  absent-minded 
dignity,  she  kept  very  much  to  her  own  sitting-room. 
She  was  a  recent  convert  to  the  younger  English  novel- 
ists, and  was  forced  to  her  seclusion  by  the  amazing 
fecundity  with  which  they  kept  repopulating  her  reading- 
table.  Larry  she  accepted  with  a  hazy,  preoccupied 
politeness,  eager  always  to  get  back  to  the  more  sub- 
stantial characters  of  her  latest  fiction. 

Of  course  Miss  Sherwood  did  not  make  of  Larry  a 
complete  confidant.  For  all  her  smiling,  easy  frankness, 
he  knew  that  there  were  many  doors  of  her  being  which 
she  never  unlocked  for  him.  What  he  saw  was  so  inter- 
esting that  he  could  not  help  being  interested  about  the 
rest.  Of  course  many  details  were  open  to  him.  She  was 
an  excellent  sportswoman;  a  rare  dancer;  there  were 
many  men  interested  in  her;  she  dined  out  almost  every 
other  evening  at  some  social  affair  blooming  belatedly  in 
May  (most  of  her  friends  were  already  settled  in  their 
country  homes,  and  she  was  still  in  town  only  because 
her  place  on  Long  Island  was  in  disorder  due  to  a  two 
months'  delay  in  the  completion  of  alterations  caused  by 
labor  difficulties);  she  had  made  a  study  of  beetles;  she 
had  a  tiny  vivarium  in  the  apartment  and  here  she 
would  sit  studying  her  pets  with  an  interest  and  patience 


I  io        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

not  unlike  that  of  old  Fabre  upon  his  stony  farm.  Also, 
as  Larry  learned  from  her  accounts,  there  was  a  day 
nursery  on  the  East  Side  whose  lack  of  a  deficit  was  due 
to  her. 

All  in  all  she  was  a  healthy,  normal,  intelligent,  un- 
self-sacrificing  woman  who  belonged  distinctly  to  her 
own  day;  who  gave  a  great  deal  to  life,  and  who  took  a 
great  deal  from  life. 

Often  Larry  wished  she  would  speak  of  Hunt.  He  was 
curious  about  Hunt,  of  whom  he  thought  daily ;  and  such 
talk  might  yield  him  information  about  the  blustering, 
big-hearted  painter  who  was  gypsying  it  down  at  the 
Duchess's.  But  as  the  days  passed  she  never  mentioned 
Hunt  again;  not  even  to  ask  where  he  was  or  what  he 
was  doing.  She  was  adhering  very  strictly  to  the  remark 
she  had  made  the  night  Larry  came  here:  "I  don't  want 
to  know  until  he  wants  me  to  know."  And  so  Hunt  re- 
mained the  same  incomplete  picture  to  Larry ;  the  painter 
was  indubitably  at  home  in  such  surroundings  as  these, 
and  he  was  at  home  as  a  roistering,  hard-working  vaga- 
bond at  the  Duchess's  —  but  all  the  vast  spaces  between 
were  utterly  blank,  except  for  the  sketchy  remarks  Hunt 
had  made  concerning  himself. 

Larry  had  guessed  that  hurt  pride  was  the  reason  for 
Hunt's  vanishment  from  the  world  which  had  known 
him.  But  he  knew  hurt  pride  was  not  Miss  Sherwood's 
motive  for  making  no  inquiries.  Anger?  No.  Jealousy? 
No.  Some  insult  offered  her?  No.  Larry  went  through 
the  category  of  ordinary  motives,  of  possible  happenings; 
but  he  could  find  none  which  would  reconcile  her  very 
keen  and  kindly  feeling  for  Hunt  with  her  abstinence 
from  all  inquiries. 

From  his  first  day  in  his  sanctuary  Larry  spent  long 
hours  every  day  over  the  accounts  and  documents  Miss 
Sherwood  had  put  in  his  hands.  They  were  indeed  a 
tangle.  Originally  the  Sherwood  estate  had  consisted  of 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        in 

solid  real-estate  holdings.,  But  now  that  Larry  had  be- 
fore him  the  records  of  holdings  and  of  various  dealings 
he  learned  that  the  character  of  the  Sherwood  fortune 
had  altered  greatly.  Miss  Sherwood's  father  had  neg- 
lected the  care  of  this  sober  business  in  favor  of  specu- 
lative investment  and  even  outright  gambling  in  stocks; 
and  Dick,  possessing  this  strain  of  his  father,  and  lacking 
his  father's  experience,  had  and  was  speculating  even  more 
wildly. 

Larry  had  followed  the  market  since  he  had  been  in  a 
broker's  office  almost  ten  years  earlier,  so  he  knew  what 
stock  values  had  been  and  had  some  idea  of  what  they 
were  now.  The  records,  and  some  of  the  stock  Larry 
found  in  the  safe,  recalled  the  reputation  of  the  elder 
Sherwood.  He  had  been  known  as  a  spirited,  daring  man 
who  would  buy  anything  or  sell  anything;  he  had  been 
several  times  victimized  by  sharp  traders,  some  of  these 
out-and-out  confidence  men.  Studying  these  old  records 
Larry  remembered  that  the  elder  Sherwood  a  dozen  years 
before  had  lost  a  hundred  thousand  in  a  mining  deal 
which  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle  had  helped  manipulate. 

Larry  found  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
stock  in  the  safe  that  were  just  so  much  waste  paper,  and 
he  found  records  of  other  hundreds  of  thousands  in  safety 
deposit  vaults  that  had  no  greater  value.  The  real  estate, 
the  more  solid  and  to  the  male  Sherwoods  the  less  inter- 
esting part  of  the  fortune,  had  long  been  in  the  care  of 
agents;  and  since  Larry  was  prohibited  from  going  out 
and  studying  the  condition  and  true  value  of  these  hold- 
ings, he  had  to  depend  upon  the  book  valuations  and  the 
agents'  reports  and  letters.  Upon  the  basis  of  these  valu- 
ations he  estimated  that  some  holdings  were  returning  a 
loss,  some  a  bare  one  and  a  half  per  cent,  and  some  run- 
ning as  high  as  fifteen  per  cent.  Larry  found  many  com- 
plaints from  tenants;  some  threatening  letters  from  the 
Building  Department  for  failure  to  make  ordered  alter- 


ii2        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

ations  to  comply  with  new  building  laws;  and  some 
rather  perfunctory  letters  of  advice  and  recommendation 
from  the  agents  themselves. 

From  Miss  Sherwood  Larry  learned  that  the  agents 
were  old  men,  friends  of  her  father  since  youth ;  that  they 
had  both  made  comfortable  fortunes  which  they  had  no 
incentive  to  increase.  Larry  judged  that  there  was  no 
dishonesty  on  the  part  of  the  agents,  only  laxity,  and  an 
easy  adherence  to  the  methods  of  their  earlier  years  when 
there  had  not  been  so  much  competition  nor  so  many 
building  laws.  All  the  same  Larry  judged  that  the  real- 
estate  holdings  were  in  a  bad  way. 

Larry  liked  the  days  and  days  of  this  work,  although 
the  farther  he  went  the  worse  did  the  tangle  seem.  It 
was  the  kind  of  work  for  which  his  faculties  fitted  him, 
and  this  was  his  first  chance  to  use  his  faculties  upon 
large  affairs  in  an  honest  way.  Thus  far  his  work  was  all 
diagnostic;  cure,  construction,  would  not  come  until 
later  —  and  perhaps  Miss  Sherwood  would  not  trust  him 
with  such  affairs.  This  investigation,  this  checking  up, 
involved  no  risk  on  her  part  as  she  had  frankly  told  him. 
The  other  would :  it  would  mean  at  least  partial  control 
of  property,  the  handling  of  funds. 

Miss  Sherwood  had  many  sessions  with  him;  she 
was  interested,  but  she  confessed  herself  helpless  in  this 
compilation  and  diagnosis  of  so  many  facts  and  figures. 
Dick  was  prompt  enough  to  report  his  stock  transactions, 
and  he  was  eager  enough  to  discuss  the  probable  fluctua- 
tion of  this  or  that  stock ;  but  when  asked  to  go  over  what 
Larry  had  done,  he  refused  flatly  and  good-humoredly  to 
"sit  in  any  such  slow,  dead  game." 

"If  my  Solomon-headed  sister  is  satisfied  with  what 
you're  doing,  Captain  Nemo,  that's  good  enough  for 
me,"  he  would  say.  "So  forget  that  stuff  till  I'm  out  of 
sight.  Open  up,  Captain  —  what  do  you  think  copper  is 
going  to  do?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        113 

"I  wish  you  could  be  put  on  an  operating-table  and 
have  your  speculative  streak  knifed  out  of  you,  Dick. 
That  oil  stock  you  bought  the  other  day  —  why,  a  blind 
man  could  have  seen  it  was  wild-cat.  And  you  were 
wiped  out." 

"Oh,  the  best  of  'em  get  aboard  a  bad  deal  now  and 
then." 

"I  know.  But  I've  been  tabulating  all  your  deals  to 
date,  and  on  the  total  you  're  away  behind.  Better  leave 
the  market  absolutely  alone,  Dick,  and  quit  taking  those 
big  chances." 

"  You  Ve  got  to  take  some  big  chances,  Captain  Nemo  " 
—  Dick  had  clung  to  the  title  he  had  lightly  conferred  on 
Larry  the  morning  he  had  come  in  to  apologize —  "or 
else  you  '11  never  make  any  big  winnings.  Besides,  I  want 
a  run  for  my  money.  Just  getting  money  is  n't  enough. 
I  want  a  little  pep  in  mine." 

Larry  saw  that  these  talks  on  the  unwisdom  of  specula- 
tion he  was  giving  Dick  were  not  in  themselves  enough  to 
effect  a  change  in  Dick.  Mere  words  were  colorless  and 
negative;  something  positive  would  be  required. 

Larry  hesitated  before  he  ventured  upon  another  mat- 
ter he  had  long  considered.  "Excuse  my  saying  it,  Dick. 
But  a  man  who 's  trying  to  do  as  much  in  a  business  way 
as  you  are,  particularly  since  it's  plain  speculation,  can't 
afford  to  go  to  after-theater  shows  three  times  a  week  and 
to  late  suppers  the  other  four  nights.  Two  and  three 
o'clock  is  no  bedtime  hour  for  a  business  man.  And  that 
boot-legged  booze  you  drink  when  you  're  out  does  n't 
help  you  any.  I  know  you  think  I  'm  talking  like  a  fossil- 
ized grand-aunt  —  but  all  the  same,  it 's  the  straight  stuff 
I  'm  handing  you." 

"Of  course  it's  straight  stuff  —  and  you're  perfectly 
all  right,  Captain  Nemo."  With  a  good-natured  smile 
Dick  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "But  I'm  all  right, 
too,  and  nothing  and  nobody  is  going  to  hurt  me.  Got  to 


H4        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

have  a  little  fun,  have  n't  I?  As  for  the  booze,  I  'm  merely 
making  hay  while  the  sun  shines.  Soon  there'll  be  no  sun 
—  I  mean  no  booze." 

Larry  dropped  the  subject.  In  his  old  unprincipled 
days  his  practice  had  been  much  what  he  had  suggested 
to  Dick;  as  little  drink  as  possible,  and  as  few  late  nights 
as  possible.  He  had  needed  all  his  wits  all  the  time.  In 
this  matter  of  hilarious  late  hours,  as  in  the  matter  of 
speculation,  Larry  recognized  words  alone,  however  good, 
would  have  little  effect  upon  the  pleasure-loving,  friendly, 
likable  Dick.  An  event,  some  big  experience,  would  be 
required  to  check  him  short  and  bring  him  to  his  senses. 

While  Larry  was  keeping  at  this  grind  something  was 
happening  to  Larry  of  which  he  was  not  then  conscious : 
something  which  was  part  of  the  big  development  in  him 
that  was  in  time  to  lead  him  far.  A  confidence  man  is 
essentially  a  "sure-thing"  gambler.  It  had  been  Larry's 
practice,  before  the  law  had  tripped  him  up,  to  study 
every  detail  of  an  enterprise  he  was  planning  to  under- 
take, to  know  the  psychology  of  the  individuals  with 
whom  he  was  dealing,  to  eliminate  every  perceivable 
uncertainty:  that  was  what  had  made  almost  all  of  hig 
deals  "sure  things."  Strip  a  clever  knave  of  all  intent 
or  inclination  for  knavery,  and  leave  all  his  other  qualities 
and  practices  intact  and  eager,  and  you  have  the  makings 
of  a  "sure-thing"  business  man:  —  a  man  who  does  not 
cheat  others,  and  who  takes  precious  care  that  his  every 
move  is  sound  and  forward-looking.  Aside  from  the 
moral  element  involved,  the  difference  between  the  two 
is  largely  a  difference  in  percentage :  say  the  difference  be- 
tween a  thousand  per  cent  profit  and  six  per  cent  profit. 
The  element  of  trying  to  play  a  "safe  thing"  still  remains. 

This  transformation  of  character,  under  the  stimulus 
of  hard,  steady  work  upon  a  tangled  thing  which  con- 
tained the  germ  of  great  constructive  possibilities  for  some 
one,  was  what  was  happening  unconsciously  to  Larry. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        115 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ALL  this  while  Maggie,  and  what  he  was  to  do  about  her, 
and  how  do  it,  was  in  Larry's  mind.  Even  this  work  he 
was  doing  for  Miss  Sherwood,  he  was  doing  also  for  Mag- 
gie, in  the  hope  that  in  some  unseen  way  it  might  lead 
him  to  her  and  help  lead  her  to  herself.  There  were  diffi- 
culties enough  between  them,  God  knew;  but  of  them  all 
two  were  forever  presenting  themselves  as  foremost :  first, 
he  did  not  dare  go  openly  to  see  her;  and,  second,  even 
if  he  so  dared  he  did  not  know  where  she  was. 

When  he  had  been  with  the  Sherwoods  some  three 
weeks  Larry  determined  upon  a  preliminary  measure. 
By  this  time  he  knew  that  the  letters  mailed  from  Chi- 
cago, according  to  the  plan  he  had  arranged  with  Miss 
Sherwood,  had  had  their  contemplated  effect.  He  knew 
that  he  was  supposed  by  his  enemies  to  be  in  Chicago  or 
some  other  Western  point,  and  that  New  York  was  off  its 
guard  as  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

His  preliminary  measure  was  to  discover,  if  possible, 
Maggie's  whereabouts.  The  Duchess  seemed  to  him  the 
most  likely  source  of  information.  He  dared  not  write 
asking  her  for  this,  for  he  was  certain  her  mail  was  still 
being  scrutinized.  The  safest  method  would  be  to  call  at 
the  pawnshop  in  person ;  the  police,  and  his  old  friends, 
and  the  Ginger  Bucks  would  expect  anything  else  before 
they  would  expect  him  to  return  to  his  grandmother's. 
Of  course  he  must  use  all  precautions. 

Incidentally  he  was  prompted  to  this  method  by  his 
desire  to  see  his  grandmother  and  Hunt.  He  had  an  idea 
or  two  which  he  had  been  mulling  over  that  concerned 
the  artist. 

He  chose  a  night  when  a  steady,  blowing  rain  had  driven 
all  but  limousined  and  most  necessitous  traffic  from  the 
streets.  The  rain  was  excuse  for  a  long  raincoat  with 


n6        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

high  collar  which  buttoned  under  his  nose,  and  a  cap 
which  pulled  down  to  his  eyes,  and  an  umbrella  which 
masked  him  from  every  direct  glance.  Thus  abetted  and 
equipped  he  came,  after  a  taxi  ride  and  a  walk,  into  his 
grandmother's  street.  It  was  as  seemingly  deserted  as  on 
that  tumultuous  night  when  he  had  left  it;  and  on  this 
occasion  no  figures  sprang  out  of  the  cover  of  shadows, 
shooting  and  cursing.  He  had  calculated  correctly;  and 
unmolested  he  gained  the  pawnshop  door,  passed  the 
solemn-eyed,  incurious  Isaac,  and  entered  the  room  be- 
hind. 

His  grandmother  sat  over  her  accounts  at  her  desk 
in  a  corner  among  her  curios.  Hunt,  smoking  a  black 
pipe,  was  using  his  tireless  right  hand  in  a  rapid  sketch  of 
her:  another  of  those  swift,  few-stroked,  vivid  character 
notes  which  were  about  his  studio  by  the  hundreds.  The 
Duchess  saw  Larry  first;  and  she  greeted  him  in  the  same 
unsurprised,  emotionless  manner  as  on  the  night  he  had 
come  back  from  Sing  Sing. 

"Good-evening,  Larry,"  said  she. 

"Good-evening,  grandmother,"  he  returned. 

Hunt  came  to  his  feet,  knocking  over  a  chair  in  so 
doing,  and  gripped  Larry's  hand.  "Hello  —  here's  our 
wandering  boy  to-night!  How  are  you,  son?" 

"First-rate,  you  old  paint-slinger.  And  you?" 

"Hitting  all  twelve  cylinders  and  taking  everything  on 
high!  But  say,  listen,  youngster:  how  about  your  copper 
friends  and  those  gun-toting  schoolmates  of  yours?" 

"Missed  them  so  far." 

"Better  keep  on  missing  'em."  Hunt  regarded  him  in- 
tently for  a  moment,  then  asked  abruptly:  "Never  heard 
one  way  or  another  —  but  did  you  use  that  telephone 
number  I  gave  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Miss  Sherwood  take  care  of  you?" 

"Yes." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        117 

"Still  there?" 

"Yes." 

Again  Hunt  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Larry  expected 
questions  about  Miss  Sherwood,  for  he  knew  the  quality 
of  the  painter's  interest.  But  Hunt  seemed  quite  as  de- 
termined to  avoid  any  personal  question  relating  to  Miss 
Sherwood  as  she  had  been  about  personal  questions  re- 
lating to  him;  for  his  next  remark  was: 

"Young  fellow,  still  keeping  all  those  commandments 
you  wrote  for  yourself?" 

"So  far,  my  bucko." 

"  Keep  on  keeping  'em,  and  write  yourself  a  few  more, 
and  you  '11  have  a  brand-new  decalogue.  And  we  '11  have  a 
little  Moses  of  our  own.  But  in  the  meantime,  son,  what 's 
the  great  idea  of  coming  down  here?" 

"For  one  thing,  I  came  to  ask  for  a  couple  of  your 
paintings." 

"  My  paintings ! "  Hunt  regarded  the  other  suspiciously. 
"What  the  hell  you  want  my  paintings  for?" 

"They  might  make  good  towels  if  I  can  scrape  the 
paint  off." 

"Aw,  cut  out  the  vaudeville  stuff!  I  asked  you  what 
you  wanted  my  paintings  for?  Give  me  a  straight  answer!" 

"All  right  —  here's  your  straight  answer:  I  want  your 
paintings  to  sell  them." 

"Sell  my  paintings!  Say,  are  you  trying  to  say  some- 
thing still  funnier?" 

"  I  want  them  to  sell  them.  Remember  I  once  told  you 
that  I  could  sell  them  —  that  I  could  sell  anything.  Let 
me  have  them,  and  then  just  see." 

"You'd  sure  have  to  be  able  to  sell  anything  to 
sell  them!"  A  challenging  glint  had  come  into  Hunt's 
eyes.  "Young  fellow,  you're  so  damned  fresh  that  if 
you  had  any  dough  I  'd  bet  you  five  thousand,  any  odds 
you  like,  that  you  could  n't  even  give  one  of  the  things 
away!" 


Ii8        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Loan  me  five  thousand,"  Larry  returned  evenly, 
"and  I'll  cover  the  bet  with  even  money  —  it  being 
understood  that  I  'm  to  sell  the  picture  at  a  price  not  less 
than  the  highest  price  you  ever  received  for  one  of  your 
'pretty  pictures'  which  you  delight  to  curse  and  which 
made  your  fortune.  Now  bring  down  your  pictures  —  or 
shut  up!" 

Hunt's  jaw  set.  "Young  fellow,  I  take  that  bet!  And 
I  '11  not  let  you  off,  either  —  you  '11  have  to  pay  it !  Which 
pictures  do  you  want?" 

"That  young  Italian  woman  sitting  on  the  curb  nurs- 
ing her  baby  —  and  any  other  picture  you  want  to  put 
with  it." 

Hunt  went  clumping  up  the  stairway.  When  he  was 
out  of  earshot,  the  Duchess  remarked  quietly: 

"What  did  you  really  come  for,  Larry?" 

Larry  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  his  grandmother's 
penetration,  but  he  did  not  try  to  evade  the  question  nor 
the  steady  gaze  of  the  old  eyes. 

"I  thought  you  might  know  where  Maggie  is,  and  I 
came  to  ask." 

"That's  what  I  thought." 

"Do  you  know  where  she  is?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  is  she?" 

The  old  eyes  were  still  steady  upon  him.  "I  don't 
know  that  I  should  tell  you.  I  want  you  to  get  on  —  and 
the  less  you  have  to  do  with  Maggie,  the  better  for  you." 

"  I  'd  like  to  know,  grandmother." 

The  Duchess  considered  for  a  long  space.  "After  all, 
you're  of  age  —  and  you've  got  to  decide  what's  best  for 
yourself.  I'll  tell  you.  Maggie  was  here  the  other  day 
—  dressed  simple  —  to  get  some  letters  she'd  forgotten 
to  take  and  which  I  could  n't  find.  We  had  a  talk.  Maggie 
is  living  at  the  Grantham  under  the  name  of  Margaret 
Cameron.  She  has  a  suite  there." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        119 

"A  suite  at  the  Grantham!"  exclaimed  Larry,  as- 
tounded. "Why,  the  Grantham  is  in  the  same  class  with 
the  Ritzmore,  where  she  used  to  work  —  or  the  Plaza ! 
A  suite  at  the  Grantham!" 

And  then  Larry  gave  a  twitching  start.  "At  the  Gran- 
tham—  alone?" 

"Not  alone  —  no.  But  it's  not  what  just  came  into 
your  mind.  It's  a  woman  that's  with  her;  a  hired  com- 
panion. And  they're  doing  everything  on  a  swell  scale." 

"What's  Maggie  up  to?" 

"She  did  n't  tell  me,  except  to  say  that  the  plan  was  a 
big  one.  She  was  all  excited  over  it.  If  you  want  to  know 
just  what  it  is,  ask  Barney  Palmer  and  Old  Jimmie." 

"Barney  and  Old  Jimmie!"  ejaculated  Larry.  And 
then:  "Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  —  and  a  suite  at  the 
Grantham!" 

At  that  moment  Hunt  came  back  down  the  stairway, 
carrying  a  roll  wrapped  in  brown  paper. 

"Here  you  are,  young  fellow,"  he  announced.  "De- 
mounted 'em  so  the  junk  would  be  easier  to  handle.  The 
Dago  mother  you  asked  for  —  the  second  painting  may 
be  one  you'd  like  to  have  for  your  own  private  gallery. 
I  'm  not  going  to  let  you  get  away  with  your  bluff  — and 
don't  you  forget  it!  ...  Duchess,  don't  you  think  he'd 
better  beat  it  before  Gavegan  and  his  loving  friends  take 
a  tumble  to  his  presence  and  mess  up  the  neighborhood?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Duchess.   "Good-night,  Larry." 

"Good-night,"  said  he. 

Mechanically  he  took  the  roll  of  paintings  and  slipped 
it  under  his  raincoat;  mechanically  he  shook  hands; 
mechanically  he  got  out  of  the  pawnshop;  mechanically 
he  took  all  precautions  in  getting  out  of  the  little  rain- 
driven  street  and  in  getting  into  a  taxicab  which  he 
captured  over  near  Cooper  Institute.  All  his  mind  was 
upon  what  the  Duchess  had  told  him  and  upon  a  new 
idea  which  was  throbbingly  growing  into  a  purpose. 


120       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Maggie  and  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie!  Maggie  in  a  suite 
at  the  Grantham! 

What  Larry  now  did,  as  he  got  into  the  taxi,  he  would 
have  called  footless  and  foolhardy  an  hour  before,  and 
at  any  other  hour  his  judgment  might  have  restrained 
him.  But  just  now  he  seemed  controlled  by  a  force 
greater  than  smooth -running  judgment  —  a  composite  of 
many  forces:  by  sudden  jealousy,  by  a  sudden  desire  to 
shield  Maggie,  by  a  sudden  desire  to  see  her.  So  as  he 
stepped  into  the  taxi,  he  said: 

"The  Grantham  —  quick!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  taxi  went  rocking  up  Fourth  Avenue.  But  now  that 
decision  was  made  and  he  was  headed  toward  Maggie, 
a  little  of  judgment  reasserted  itself.  It  would  not  be 
safe  for  him  to  walk  openly  into  the  Grantham  with  a 
mouthful  of  questions.  He  did  not  know  the  number  of 
Maggie's  suite.  And  Maggie  might  not  be  in.  So  he  re- 
vised his  plan  slightly.  He  called  to  his  driver: 

"Go  to  the  Claridge  first." 

Five  minutes  later  the  taxi  was  in  Forty-Fourth 
Street  and  Larry  was  stepping  out.  Fortune  favored  him 
in  one  fact  —  or  perhaps  his  subconscious  mind  had  based 
his  plan  upon  this  fact:  the  time  was  half-past  ten,  the 
theaters  still  held  their  crowds,  the  streets  were  empty, 
the  restaurants  were  practically  unoccupied.  He  was  in- 
curring the  minimum  of  risk. 

"Wait  for  me,"  he  ordered  the  driver.  "I'll  be  out  in 
five  minutes." 

In  less  than  the  half  of  the  first  of  these  minutes  Larry 
had  attained  his  first  objective:  the  secluded  telephone- 
room  down  behind  the  grill.  It  was  unoccupied  except 
for  the  telephone  girl  who  was  gazing  raptly  at  the  sorrow- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        121 

ful,  romantic,  and  very  soiled  pages  of  "St.  Elmo."  The 
next  moment  she  was  gazing  at  something  else — a  five- 
dollar  bill  which  Larry  had  slipped  into  the  open  book. 

"That's  to  pay  for  a  telephone  call;  just  keep  the 
change,"  he  said  rapidly.  "You're  to  do  all  the  talking, 
and  say  just  what  I  tell  you." 

"  I  got  you,  general,"  said  the  girl,  emerging  with  alac- 
rity from  romance  to  reality.  "Shoot." 

"Call  up  the  Hotel  Grantham  —  say  you're  a  florist 
with  an  order  to  deliver  some  flowers  direct  to  Miss 
Margaret  Cameron  —  and  ask  for  the  number  of  her 
suite  —  and  keep  the  wire  open." 

The  girl  obeyed  promptly.  In  less  than  a  minute  she 
was  reporting  to  Larry : 

"They  say  1141-1142-1143." 

"Ask  if  she 's  in.  If  she  is,  get  her  on  the  'phone,  tell  her 
long  distance  is  calling,  but  does  n't  want  to  speak  to  her 
unless  she  is  alone.  You  get  it?" 

"Sure,  brother.  This  ain't  the  first  time  I  helped  a 
party  out." 

There  was  more  jabbing  with  the  switch-board  plug, 
evident  switching  at  the  other  end,  several  questions, 
and  then  the  girl  asked : "  Is  this  Miss  Margaret  Cameron? 
Miss  Cameron  — "  and  so  on  as  per  Larry's  instructions. 

The  operator  turned  to  Larry :  "She  says  she 's  alone." 

"Tell  her  to  hold  the  wire  till  you  get  better  connections 
—  the  storm  has  messed  up  connections  terribly  —  and 
keep  your  own  wire  open  and  make  her  hold  her  end." 

As  Larry  went  out  he  heard  his  instructions  being  exe- 
cuted while  an  adept  hand  safely  banked  the  bill  inside  her 
shirt-waist.  Within  two  minutes  his  taxi  set  him  down  at 
the  Grantham;  and  knowing  that  whatever  risks  he  ran 
would  be  lessened  by  his  acting  swiftly  and  without  any 
suspicious  hesitation,  he  walked  straight  in  and  to  the 
elevators,  in  the  manner  of  one  having  business  there,  his 
collar  again  pulled  up,  his  cap  pulled  down,  and  his  face 


122        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

just  then  covered  with  a  handkerchief  which  was  caring 
for  a  sniffling  nose  in  a  highly  natural  manner. 

With  his  heart  pounding  he  got  without  mishap  to  the 
doors  numbered  1141,  1142,  and  1143.  Instinctively  he 
knew  in  a  general  way  what  the  apartment  was  like:  a 
set  of  rooms  of  various  character  which  the  hotel  could 
rent  singly  or  throw  together  and  rent  en  suite.  But  which 
of  the  three  was  the  main  entrance?  He  dared  not  hesitate, 
for  the  slightest  queer  action  might  get  the  attention  of  the 
floor  clerk  down  the  corridor.  So  Larry  chose  the  happy 
medium  and  pressed  the  mother-of-pearl  button  of  1 142. 

The  door  opened,  and  before  Larry  stood  a  large, 
elderly,  imposing  woman  in  a  rigidly  formal  evening 
gown  —  a  gown  which,  by  the  way,  had  been  part  of 
Miss  Grierson's  equipment  for  many  a  year  for  helping 
raw  young  things  master  the  art  of  being  ladies.  Larry 
surmised  at  once  that  this  was  the  "hired  companion" 
his  grandmother  had  spoken  of.  In  other  days  Larry 
had  had  experience  with  this  type  and  before  Miss  Grier- 
son  could  bar  him  out  or  ask  a  question,  Larry  was  in  the 
room  and  the  door  closed  behind  him  —  and  he  had  en- 
tered with  the  easiest,  niost  natural,  most  polite  manner 
imaginable. 

"You  were  expecting  me?"  inquired  Larry  with  his 
disarming  and  wholly  engaging  smile. 

Neither  Miss  Grierson's  mind  nor  body  was  geared  for 
rapid  action.  She  was  taken  aback,  and  yet  not  offended. 
So  being  at  a  loss,  she  resorted  to  the  chief  item  in  her 
stock  in  trade,  her  ever  dependable  dignity. 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  was.  In  fact,  sir,  I  do  not  know 
who  you  are." 

"Miss  Cameron  knows  —  and  she  is  expecting  me," 
Larry  returned  pleasantly.  His  quick  eyes  had  noted  that 
this  was  a  sitting-room :  an  ornate,  patterned  affair  which 
the  great  hotels  seem  to  order  in  hundred  lots.  "Where 
is  Miss  Cameron?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        123 

"In  the  next  room,"  nodding  at  the  connecting  door. 
"She  is  engaged.  Telephoning.  A  long-distance  call. 
I'm  quite  sure  she  is  not  expecting  you,"  Miss  Grierson 
went  on  to  explain  ponderously  and  elaborately,  but  with 
politeness,  for  this  young  man  was  handsome  and  pleas- 
ant and  well-bred  and  might  prove  to  be  some  one  of 
real  importance.  "We  were  to  have  had  a  theater  party 
with  supper  afterwards;  but  owing  to  Miss  Cameron's 
indisposition  we  did  not  go  to  the  theater.  But  she  in- 
sisted on  keeping  the  engagement  for  the  supper,  but 
changing  it  to  here.  Besides  herself  and  myself,  there  are 
to  be  only  her  uncle,  her  cousin,  and  just  one  guest.  That 
is  why  I  am  so  certain,  sir,  she  is  not  expecting  you." 

"But  you  see,"  smiled  Larry,  "I  am  that  one  guest." 

Miss  Grierson  shook  her  carefully  coiffured  transforma- 
tion. " I've  met  the  guest  who  is  coming,  and  I  certainly 
have  not  met  you." 

"Then  she  must  have  asked  two  of  us.  Anyhow,  I'll 
just  speak  to  her,  and  if  I'm  mistaken  and  de  trap,  I'll 
withdraw."  And  ere  Miss  Grierson  could  even  stir  up  an 
intention  to  intervene  further,  this  well-mannered  young 
man  had  smiled  his  disarming  smile  and  bowed  to  her 
and  had  passed  through  the  door,  closing  it  behind  him. 

He  halted,  the  knob  in  his  hand.  Maggie  was  standing 
sidewise  to  him,  holding  a  telephone  in  her  hand,  its  re- 
ceiver at  her  ear.  She  must  have  supposed  that  it  was 
Miss  Grierson  who  had  so  quietly  entered,  for  she  did  not 
look  around. 

"Yes,  I'm  still  waiting,"  she  was  saying  impatiently. 
"Can't  you  ever  get  that  connection?" 

Larry  had  seen  Maggie  only  in  the  plain  dark  suit 
which  she  had  worn  to  her  daily  business  of  selling  cigar- 
ettes at  the  Ritzmore;  and  once,  on  the  night  of  his  re- 
turn from  Sing  Sing,  in  that  stage  gypsy  costume,  which 
though  effective  was  cheap  and  impromptu  and  did  not 
at  all  lift  her  out  of  the  environment  of  the  Duchess's 


124        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

ancient  and  grimy  house.  But  Larry  was  so  startled  by 
this  changed  Maggie  that  for  the  moment  he  could  not 
have  moved  from  the  door  even  had  he  so  desired.  She 
was  accoutered  in  the  smartest  of  filmy  evening  gowns, 
with  the  short  skirt  which  was  then  the  mode,  with  high- 
heeled  silver  slippers,  her  rounded  arms  and  shoulders 
and  bosom  bare,  her  abundant  black  hair  piled  high  in 
careful  carelessness.  The  gown  was  cerise  in  color,  and 
from  her  forearm  hung  a  great  fan  of  green  plumes.  In  all 
the  hotels  and  theaters  of  New  York  one  could  hardly 
have  come  upon  a  figure  that  night  more  striking  in  its 
finished  and  fresh  young  womanhood.  Larry  trembled 
all  over;  his  heart  tried  to  throb  madly  up  out  of  his 
throat. 

At  length  he  spoke.  And  all  he  was  able  to  say  was: 

"Maggie." 

She  whirled  about,  and  telephone  and  receiver  almost 
fell  from  her  hands.  She  went  pale,  and  stared  at  him, 
her  mouth  agape,  her  dark  eyes  wide. 

"La- Larry!"  she  whispered. 

"Maggie!"  he  said  again. 

"La-Larry!  I  thought  you  were  in  Chicago." 

"  I  'm  here  now,  Maggie  —  especially  to  see  you."  He 
did  not  know  it,  but  his  voice  was  husky.  He  noted  that 
she  was  still  holding  the  telephone  and  receiver.  "  It  was 
I  who  put  in  that  long-distance  call.  But  1  came  instead. 
So  you  might  as  well  hang  up." 

She  obeyed,  and  set  the  instrument  upon  its  little 
table. 

"Larry  —  where  have  you  been  all  this  while?" 

He  was  now  conscious  enough  to  note  that  there  was 
tense  concern  in  her  manner.  He  exulted  at  it,  and  crossed 
and  took  her  hand. 

"Right  here  in  New  York,  Maggie." 

"In  hiding?" 

"In  mighty  good  hiding." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        125 

"But,  Larry  —  don't  you  know  it's  dangerous  for  you 
to  come  out?  And  to  come  here  of  all  places?" 

"I  couldn't  help  myself.  I  simply  had  to  see  you, 
Maggie." 

He  was  still  holding  her  hand,  and  there  was  an  in- 
stinctive grip  of  her  fingers  about  his.  For  a  moment  — 
the  moment  during  which  her  outer  or  more  conscious 
self  was  startled  into  forgetfulness  —  they  gazed  at  each 
other  silently  and  steadily,  eye  into  eye. 

And  then  the  things  the  Duchess  had  said  crept  back 
into  his  mind,  and  he  said: 

"Maggie,  I've  come  to  take  you  out  of  all  this.  Get 
ready  —  let's  leave  at  once." 

That  broke  the  spell.  She  jerked  away  from  him,  and 
instantly  she  was  the  old  Maggie:  the  Maggie  who  had 
jeered  at  him  and  defied  him  the  night  of  his  return  from 
prison  when  he  had  announced  his  new  plan  — the  Maggie 
who  had  flaunted  him  as  "stool"  and  "squealer"  the 
evening  she  had  left  the  Duchess's  to  enter  upon  this  new 
career. 

"No,  you're  not  going  to  take  me  out  of  this!"  she 
flung  at  him.  "I  told  you  once  before  that  I  wasn't 
going  your  way !  I  told  you  that  I  was  going  my  own  way ! 
That  held  for  then,  and  it  holds  for  now,  and  it  will  hold 
for  always!" 

The  softer  mood  which  had  come  upon  him  by  sur- 
prise at  sight  of  her  and  filled  him,  now  gave  way  to  grim 
determination.  "Yes,  you  are  coming  my  way  —  some- 
time, if  not  now!  And  now  if  I  can  make  you!" 

Their  embattled  gazes  gripped  each  other.  But  now 
Larry  was  seeing  more  than  just  Maggie.  He  was  also 
taking  in  the  room.  It  was  close  kin  to  the  room  in  which 
he  had  left  Miss  Grierson:  ornate,  undistinguished,  and 
very  expensive.  He  noted  one  slight  difference:  a  tiny 
hallway  giving  on  the  corridor,  its  inner  door  now  opened. 

But  the  greatest  difference  was  what  he  saw  over 


126        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Maggie's  smooth  white  shoulders:  a  table  all  set  with 
china  and  glass  and  silver,  and  arranged  for  five. 

1 '  Maggie,  what 's  this  game  you  're  up  to  ?"  he  demanded. 

"It's  none  of  your  business!"  she  said  fiercely,  but  in 
a  low  tone  —  for  both  were  instinctively  remembering 
Miss  Grierson  in  the  adjoining  room.  And  then  she 
added  proudly:  "But  it's  big!  Bigger  than  anything  you 
ever  dreamed  of!  And  you  can  see  I  am  putting  it  across 
so  far  —  and  I  '11  be  putting  it  across  at  the  finish !  Com- 
pare it  to  the  cheap  line  you  talked  about.  Bah!" 

"Listen,  Maggie!"  In  his  intensity  he  gripped  her 
bare  forearm.  "This  is  bad  business,  and  if  you  had  any 
sense  you'd  know  it!  Don't  you  think  I  get  the  layout? 
Barney  is  your  cousin,  Old  Jimmie  is  your  uncle,  that 
dame  in  the  next  room  and  this  suite  and  your  swell 
clothes  to  help  put  up  a  front!  And  your  sickness  that 
would  n't  let  you  go  to  the  theater  is  just  a  fake,  so  that, 
not  wanting  to  disappoint  them  entirely,  you  'd  have  an 
excuse  for  having  supper  here  —  and  thus  adroitly  draw 
some  person  into  the  trap  of  a  more  intimate  relation- 
ship. It's  a  clever  and  classy  layout.  Maggie,  exactly 
what's  your  game?" 

Til  not  tell  you!" 

'Who's  that  man  that's  coming  here?" 

'I'll  not  tell  you!" 

'Is  he  the  sucker  you're  out  to  trim?" 

'I'll  not  tell  you!" 

'You  will  tell  me!"  he  cried dominantly.  "And  you're 
going  to  get  out  of  all  this!  You  hear  me?  It  may  look 
good  to  you  now.  But  I  tell  you  it  has  only  one  finish ! 
And  that's  a  rotten  finish!" 

She  tore  free  from  his  punishing  grip,  and  pantingly 
glared  at  him  —  her  former  defiance  now  an  egoistic 
fury. 

"  I  won't  have  you  interfering  with  my  life!  —  you  fake 
preacher!  —  you  stool,  you  squealer!"  she  flung  at  him 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        127 

madly.  "Stool  —  squealer!"  she  repeated.  "I  tell  you 
I'm  going  my  own  way  —  and  it's  a  big  way  —  and  I 
tell  you  again  nothing  you  can  say  or  do  can  stop  me !  If 
I  could  have  my  best  wish,  all  I  'd  wish  for  would  be  some- 
thing to  keep  you  from  always  interfering  —  something 
to  get  you  out  of  my  way!" 

Panting,  she  paused.  Her  tense  figure,  with  hands 
closing  and  unclosing,  expressed  the  very  acme  of  furious 
defiance  —  of  desire  to  annihilate  —  of  ultimate  hatred. 
Larry  was  astounded  by  the  very  extent,  the  profundity, 
of  her  passion.  And  so  they  stood,  silent  except  for  their 
quick  breathing,  eyes  fixed  upon  eyes,  for  several  mo- 
ments. 

And  then  a  key  sounded  in  the  outer  door  of  the 
little  hallway.  Instantly  there  was  an  almost  unbelievable 
transformation  in  Maggie.  From  an  imperious,  uncon- 
trollable fury,  she  changed  to  a  white,  quivering  thing. 
"Barney!"  she  whispered;  and  sprang  to  the  inner  door 
of  the  little  hallway,  closed  and  locked  it. 

She  turned  on  Larry  a  face  that  was  ghastly  in  its 
pallor. 

"Barney  always  carries  a  pistol,"  she  whispered. 

They  had  heard  the  outer  door  close  with  a  click  of  its 
automatic  lock.  They  now  heard  the  knob  of  the  inner 
door  turn  and  tugged  at;  and  then  heard  Barney  call: 

"What's  the  matter,  Maggie?  Let  us  in." 

Maggie  made  a  supreme  effort  to  reply  in  a  controlled 
voice : 

"Just  a  minute.  I'm  not  quite  ready." 

Then  a  second  voice  sounded  from  the  other  side  of  the 
door: 

"Don't  keep  us  too  long,  Maggie.   Please!" 

There  was  a  distantly  familiar  quality  to  Larry  in  that 
second  voice.  But  he  did  not  try  to  place  it  then :  he  was 
too  poignantly  concerned  in  his  own  situation,  and  in  the 
bewildering  change  in  Maggie. 


128        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

She  slipped  a  hand  through  his  arm.  "Oh,  La-Larry, 
why  did  you  ever  take  such  a  risk!"  she  breathed.  Her 
whisper  was  piteous,  aquiver  with  fright.  "Come  this 
way!"  and  she  quickly  pulled  him  into  the  room  where 
he  had  met  Miss  Grierson  and  to  the  door  by  which  he 
had  entered. 

Maggie  opened  this  door.  "They  're  all  in  the  little  hall- 
way —  I  don't  think  they'll  see  you,"  her  rapid,  agitated 
whisper  went  on.  "  Don't  take  the  elevators  in  this  corri- 
dor, they  're  in  plain  sight.  There  are  elevators  just  around 
the  corner.  Take  them;  they're  safer.  Good-bye,  Larry 
—  and,  oh,  Larry,  don't  ever  take  such  a  risk  again!" 

With  that  she  pushed  him  out  and  closed  the  door. 

Larry  followed  her  instructions  about  the  elevator;  he 
used  the  same  precautions  in  leaving  that  he  had  used  in 
coming,  and  twenty  minutes  later  he  was  back  in  his  room 
in  the  Sherwood  apartment.  For  an  hour  or  more  he  sat 
motionless  —  thinking  —  thinking:  asking  himself  ques- 
tions, but  in  his  tumultuous  state  of  mind  and  emotions 
not  able  to  keep  to  a  question  long  enough  to  reason  out 
its  possible  answer. 

Just  what  was  that  game  in  which  Maggie  was  in- 
volved? —  a  game  which  required  that  Grantham  setting, 
that  eminently  respectable  companion,  and  Maggie's 
accouterment  as  a  young  lady  of  obvious  wealth. 

Whose  was  that  vaguely  familiar  second  voice?  —  that 
voice  which  he  still  could  not  place. 

But  what  he  thought  about  most  of  all  was  something 
very  different.  What  had  caused  that  swift  change  in 
Maggie?  —  from  a  fury  that  was  both  fire  and  granite,  to 
that  pallid,  quivering,  whispering  girl  who  had  so  rapidly 
led  him  safely  out  of  his  danger. 

To  and  fro,  back  and  forth,  shuttled  these  questions. 
Toward  two  o'clock  he  stood  up,  mind  still  absorbed, 
and  mechanically  started  to  undress.  He  then  observed 
the  roll  of  paintings  Hunt  had  given  him.  Better  for  them 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        129 

if  they  were  flattened  out.  Mechanically  he  removed 
string  and  paper.  There  on  top  was  the  Italian  mother 
he  had  asked  for.  A  great  painting  —  a  truly  great  paint- 
ing. Mechanically  he  lifted  this  aside  to  see  what  was 
the  second  painting  Hunt  had  included.  Larry  gave  a 
great  start  and  the  Italian  mother  went  flapping  to  the 
floor. 

The  second  painting  was  of  Maggie ;  the  one  on  which 
Hunt  had  been  working  the  day  Larry  had  come  back: 
Maggie  in  her  plain  working  clothes,  looking  out  at  the 
world  confidently,  conqueringly ;  the  painting  in  which 
Hunt,  his  brain  teeming  with  ideas,  had  tried  to  express 
the  Maggie  that  was,  the  many  Maggies  that  were  in  her, 
and  the  Maggie  that  was  yet  to  be. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  next  morning  Larry  tried  to  force  his  mind  to  attend 
strictly  to  Miss  Sherwood's  affairs.  But  in  this  effort  he 
was  less  than  fifty  per  cent  effective.  His  experience  of 
the  night  before  had  been  too  exciting,  too  provocative 
of  speculation,  too  involved  with  what  he  frankly  recog- 
nized to  be  the  major  interest  of  his  life,  to  allow  him  to 
apply  himself  with  perfect  and  unperturbed  concentra- 
tion to  the  day's  routine.  Constantly  he  was  seeing  the 
transformed  Maggie  in  the  cerise  evening  gown  with  the 
fan  of  green  plumes  —  seeing  her  elaborate  setting  in  her 
suite  at  the  Grantham  —  hearing  that  vaguely  familiar 
but  unplaceable  voice  outside  her  door  —  recalling  the 
frenzied  effort  with  which  Maggie  had  so  swiftly  effected 
his  escape. 

This  last  matter  puzzled  him  greatly.  If  she  were  so 
angered  at  him  as  she  had  declared,  if  she  so  distrusted 
him,  why  had  she  not  given  him  up  when  she  had  had  him 
at  her  mercy?  Could  it  be  that,  despite  her  words,  she  had 


130       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

an  unacknowledged  liking  for  him?  He  did  not  dare  let 
himself  believe  this. 

Again  and  again  he  thought  of  this  adventure  in  whose 
very  middle  Maggie  now  was,  and  of  whose  successful 
issue  she  had  proudly  boasted  to  him.  It  was  indeed 
something  big,  as  she  had  said;  that  establishment  at  the 
Grantham  was  proof  of  this.  Larry  could  now  perceive 
the  adventure's  general  outlines.  There  was  nothing 
original  in  what  he  perceived;  and  the  plan,  so  far  as  he 
could  see  it,  would  not  have  interested  him  in  the  least 
as  a  novel  creation  of  the  brain  were  not  Maggie  its  cen- 
tral figure,  and  were  not  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  her 
directing  agents.  A  pretty  woman  was  being  used  as  a 
lure  to  some  rich  man,  and  his  infatuation  for  her  was  to 
cause  him  to  part  with  a  great  deal  of  money :  some  varia- 
tion of  this  ancient  idea,  which  has  a  thousand  varia- 
tions —  that  was  the  plan. 

Obviously  the  enterprise  was  not  directed  at  some 
gross  victim  whose  palate  might  permit  his  swallowing 
anything.  If  any  one  item  essentially  proved  this,  it  was 
the  item  of  the  overwhelmingly  respectable  chaperon. 
Maggie  was  being  presented  as  an  innocent,  respectable, 
young  girl;  and  the  victim,  whoever  he  was,  was  the  type 
of  man  for  whom  only  such  a  type  of  girl  would  have  a 
compelling  appeal. 

And  this  man  —  who  was  he?  Ever  and  again  he  tried 
to  place  the  man's  voice,  with  its  faintly  familiar  quality, 
but  it  kept  dodging  away  like  a  dream  one  cannot  quite 
recall. 

The  whole  business  made  Larry  rage  within  himself. 
Maggie  to  be  used  in  such  a  way!  He  did  not  blame 
Maggie,  for  he  understood  her.  Also  he  loved  her.  She 
was  young,  proud,  willful,  had  been  trained  to  regard 
such  adventures  as  colorful  and  legitimate;  and  had  not 
lived  long  enough  for  experience  to  teach  her  otherwise. 
No,  Maggie  was  not  to  blame.  But  Old  Jimmie!  He 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        131 

would  like  to  twist  Old  Jimmie's  neck!  But  then  Old  Jim- 
mie  was  Maggie's  father ;  and  the  mere  fact  of  Old  Jimmie 
being  Maggie's  father  would,  he  knew,  safeguard  the  old 
man  from  his  wrath  even  were  he  at  liberty  to  go  forth 
and  act. 

He  cursed  his  enforced  seclusion.  If  only  he  were  free 
to  go  out  and  do  his  best  in  the  open !  But  then,  even  if  he 
were,  his  best  endeavors  would  have  little  influence  upon 
Maggie  —  with  her  despising  and  distrusting  him  as  she 
did,  and  with  her  so  determined  to  go  ahead  in  her  own 
way. 

Once  during  the  morning,  he  slipped  from  the  library 
into  his  room  and  gazed  at  the  portrait  of  Maggie  that 
Hunt  had  given  him  the  night  before:  Maggie,  self- 
confident,  willful,  a  beautiful  nobody  who  was  staring  the 
world  out  of  countenance;  a  Maggie  that  was  a  thousand 
possible  Maggies.  And  as  he  gazed  he  thought  of  the  wager 
he  had  made  with  Hunt,  and  of  his  own  rather  scatter- 
brained plannings  concerning  it.  He  removed  Maggie's 
portrait  from  the  fellowship  of  the  picture  of  the  Italian 
mother,  and  hid  it  in  his  chiffonier.  Whatever  he  might  do 
in  his  endeavor  to  make  good  his  boast  to  Hunt,  for  the 
present  he  would  regard  Maggie's  portrait  as  his  private 
property.  To  use  the  painting  as  he  had  vaguely  planned, 
before  he  had  been  surprised  to  find  it  Maggie's  portrait, 
would  be  to  pass  it  on  into  other  possession  where  it  might 
become  public  —  where,  through  some  chance,  the  Mag- 
gie of  the  working-girJ's  cheap  shirt-waist  might  be  iden- 
tified with  the  rich  Miss  Cameron  of  the  Grantham,  to 
Maggie's  great  discomfiture,  and  possibly  to  her  en- 
tanglement with  the  police. 

When  Miss  Sherwood  came  into  the  library  a  little 
later,  Larry  tried  to  put  Maggie  and  all  matters  pertain- 
ing to  his  previous  night's  adventure  out  of  his  mind. 
He  had  enough  other  affairs  which  he  was  trying  adroitly 
to  handle  —  for  instance,  Miss  Sherwood  and  Hunt; 


132        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

and  when  his  business  talk  with  her  was  ended,  he  re- 
marked : 

"I  saw  Mr.  Hunt  last  evening." 

He  watched  her  closely,  but  he  could  detect  no  flash 
of  interest  at  Hunt's  name. 

"You  went  down  to  your  grandmother's?" 

"Yes." 

"That  was  a  very  great  risk  for  you  to  take,"  she  re- 
proved him.  "  I  'm  glad  you  got  back  safely." 

Despite  the  disturbance  Maggie  had  been  to  his 
thoughts,  part  of  his  brain  had  been  trying  to  make  plans 
to  forward  this  other  aim;  so  he  now  told  Miss  Sherwood 
of  his  wager  with  Hunt  and  his  bringing  away  a  picture  — 
he  said  "one  picture."  He  wanted  to  awaken  the  sup- 
pressed interest  each  had  in  the  other;  to  help  bridge  or 
close  the  chasm  which  he  sensed  had  opened  between 
them.  So  he  brought  the  picture  of  the  Italian  mother 
from  his  room.  She  regarded  it  critically,  but  with  no 
sign  of  approval  or  disapproval. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  she  asked. 

"It's  a  most  remarkable  piece  of  work!"  he  said  em- 
phatically—  wishing  he  could  bring  in  that  picture  of 
Maggie  as  additional  evidence  supporting  his  opinion. 

She  made  no  further  comment,  and  it  was  up  to 
Larry  to  keep  the  conversation  alive.  "What  is  the  most 
Mr.  Hunt  ever  was  paid  for  a  painting?  I  mean  one  of 
what  he  swears  at  as  his  'pretty  pictures'?" 

"I  believe  about  two  thousand  dollars." 

That  was  part  of  the  information  necessary  to  Larry's 
plan. 

"Miss  Sherwood,  I'm  going  to  ask  another  favor  of 
you.  In  connection  with  a  bet  I  made  with  Mr.  Hunt. 
I  want  to  talk  with  a  picture  dealer  —  the  best  one  there 
is.  I  can't  very  well  go  to  him.  Can  you  manage  to  have 
him  come  here?" 

"Easily.   I  know  the  man  best  for  your  purpose.   I'll 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        133 

telephone,  and  if  he 's  in  New  York  he  '11  come  to  see  you 
this  afternoon." 

"Thank  you." 

She  started  out,  then  turned.  "Better  finish  your 
business  with  him  to-day  if  you  can.  We  go  to  the  coun- 
try to-morrow  or  the  day  after.  I  've  just  had  word  that 
the  workmen  are  finally  out  of  the  house;  though  the 
grounds,  of  course,  are  in  bad  shape,  and  will  probably 
remain  so.  With  this  labor  situation,  it's  practically 
impossible  to  get  men." 

Larry  remembered  something  else.  "Miss  Sherwood, 
you  recall  my  once  speaking  about  a  man  I  got  to  be 
friends  with  in  prison  —  Joe  Ellison?" 

"Yes." 

"I've  written  him,  under  an  assumed  name,  of  course, 
and  have  had  an  answer.  He  '11  be  out  in  a  very  few  days 
now.  He 's  through  with  his  old  ways.  I  know  he  'd  like 
nothing  better  than  a  quiet  place  to  work,  off  to  himself 
somewhere.  I'm  sure  you  can  trust  him." 

"We'll  arrange  to  have  him  come  out  to  Cedar  Crest. 
Oh,  don't  think  I'm  being  generous  or  sentimental,"  she 
interrupted  smilingly  as  he  started  to  thank  her.  "I'd 
be  glad  to  put  two  or  three  more  ex-convicts  to  work  on 
our  place  if  I  could  get  them.  And  so  would  my  friends; 
they  can't  get  workmen  of  any  kind." 

That  afternoon  the  picture  dealer  came.  Miss  Sher- 
wood introduced  Larry  to  him  as  Mr.  Brandon,  her 
cousin,  and  then  left  the  two  men  together.  Larry  ap- 
praised Mr.  Graham  as  a  shrewd  man  who  knew  his 
business  and  who  would  like  to  score  a  triumph  in  his  own 
particular  field.  He  decided  that  the  dealer  had  to  be 
handled  with  a  great  deal  of  frankness,  and  with  some 
stiff  bluffing  which  must  appear  equally  frank.  The 
secret  of  Larry's  earlier  success  had  been  to  establish 
confidence  and  even  enthusiasm  in  something  which  had 
little  or  no  value.  In  selling  an  honest  thing  at  an  honest 


134        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

price,  the  first  and  fundamental  procedure  was  the  same, 
to  establish  confidence  and,  if  possible,  enthusiasm. 

From  the  moment  of  introduction  Larry  quietly  as- 
sumed the  manner  of  an  art  collector  who  was  very  sure 
of  himself;  which  manner  was  abetted  by  the  setting  of 
the  Sherwood  library.  He  felt  something  of  the  old  zest 
when  wits  had  been  matched  against  wits,  even  though 
this  was  to  be  a  strictly  honorable  enterprise. 

"You  know  the  work  of  Mr.  Jerome  Hunt?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  handled  practically  all  his  work  since  he  began 
to  sell,"  replied  Mr.  Graham. 

"I  was  referring  to  work  in  his  recent  manner." 

"He  has  not  been  doing  any  work  recently,"  corrected 
Mr.  Graham. 

"No?"  Larry  picked  up  the  Italian  mother  which  for 
this  occasion  he  had  mounted  with  thumb-tacks  upon  a 
drawing-board,  and  stood  it  upon  a  chair  in  the  most 
advantageous  light.  "There  is  a  little  thing  in  Mr. 
Hunt's  recent  manner  which  I  lately  purchased." 

Mr.  Graham  regarded  the  painting  long  and  critically. 
Finally  he  remarked: 

"At  least  it  is  different." 

"Different  and  better,"  said  Larry  with  his  quiet 
positiveness.  "So  much  better  that  I  paid  him  three 
thousand  dollars  for  it." 

"Three  thousand!"  The  dealer  regarded  Larry 
sharply.  "Three  thousand  for  that?" 

"Yes.  And  I  consider  that  I  got  a  bargain." 

Mr.  Graham  was  silent  for  several  moments.  Then 
he  said: 

'For  what  reason  have  I  been  asked  here?" 

'I  want  you  to  undertake  to  sell  this  picture." 

'For  how  much?" 

'Five  thousand  dollars." 

'Five  thousand  dollars!" 

'It  is  easily  worth  five  thousand,"  Larry  said  quietly. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        135 

" If  you  value  it  so  highly,  why  do  you  want  to  sell?" 

"I  am  pressed  by  the  present  money  shortage.  Also  I 
secured  a  second  picture  when  I  got  this  one.  That 
second  picture  I  shall  not  sell.  You  should  have  no 
difficulty  in  selling  this,"  Larry  continued,  "if  you 
handle  the  matter  right.  Think  of  how  people  have 
started  again  to  talk  about  Gaugin :  about  his  starting  to 
paint  in  a  new  manner  down  there  in  the  Marquesas 
Islands,  of  his  trading  a  picture  for  a  stick  of  furniture  or 
selling  it  for  a  few  hundred  francs  —  which  same  paint- 
ings are  now  each  worth  a  small  fortune.  Capitalize  this 
Gaugin  talk;  also  the  talk  about  poor  mad  Blakeslie. 
You've  got  a  new  sensation.  One  all  your  own." 

"You  can't  start  a  sensation  with  one  painting," 
Mr.  Graham  remarked  dryly. 

This  had  been  the  very  remark  Larry  had  adroitly 
been  trying  to  draw  from  the  dealer. 

"Why,  that's  so!"  he  exclaimed.  And  then  as  if  the 
thought  had  only  that  moment  come  to  him:  "Why  not 
have  an  exhibition  of  paintings  done  in  his  new  manner? 
He's  got  a  studio  full  of  things  just  as  characteristic  as 
this  one." 

Larry  caught  the  gleam  which  came  into  the  dealer's 
eyes.  It  was  instantly  masked. 

"  Too  late  in  the  spring  for  a  picture  show.  Could  n't 
put  on  an  exhibition  before  next  season." 

"But  why  not  have  a  private  pre-exhibition  showing?" 
Larry  argued  —  "with  special  invitations  sent  to  a  small, 
carefully  chosen  list,  putting  it  over  strong  to  them  that 
you  were  offering  them  the  chance  of  a  first  and  ex- 
clusive view  of  something  very  remarkable.  Most  of 
them  will  feel  flattered  and  will  come.  And  that  will 
start  talk  and  stir  up  interest  in  your  public  exhibition 
in  the  fall.  That 's  the  idea !" 

Again  there  was  the  gleam,  quickly  masked,  in  the 
dealer's  eyes.  But  Larry  got  it. 


I36        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"How  do  I  know  this  picture  here  is  n't  just  an  acci- 
dent?—  the  only  one  of  the  sort  Mr.  Hunt  has  ever 
painted,  or  ever  will  paint?"  cautiously  inquired  Mr. 
Graham.  "You  said  you  had  a  second  picture.  May  I 
see  it?" 

Larry  hesitated.  But  he  believed  he  had  the  dealer 
almost  "sold";  a  little  more  and  Mr.  Graham  would  be 
convinced.  So  he  brought  in  Maggie's  portrait.  The 
dealer  looked  it  over  with  a  face  which  he  tried  to  keep 
expressionless. 

"How  much  is  this  one?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"It  is  not  for  sale." 

"It  will  bring  more  money  than  the  other.  It's  a 
more  interesting  subject." 

"That's  why  I'm  keeping  it,"  said  Larry.  "I  think 
you'll  admit,  Mr.  Graham,  that  this  proves  that  Mr. 
Hunt  is  not  now  painting  accidents." 

"You're  right."  The  mask  suddenly  dropped  from 
Mr.  Graham's  face;  he  was  no  longer  merely  an  art 
merchant;  he  was  also  an  art  enthusiast.  "Hunt  has 
struck  something  bold  and  fresh,  and  I  think  I  can  put 
him  over.  I  '11  try  that  scheme  you  mentioned.  Tell  me 
where  I  can  find  him  and  I  '11  see  him  at  once." 

"That  picture  has  got  to  be  sold  before  I  give  you  his 
address.  No  use  seeing  him  until  then;  he'd  laugh  at 
you,  and  not  listen  to  anything.  He's  sore  at  the  world; 
thinks  it  does  n't  understand  him.  An  actual  sale  would 
be  the  only  argument  that  would  have  weight  with  him." 

"All  right —  I'll  buy  the  picture  myself.  Hunt  and  I 
have  had  a  falling  out,  and  I  'd  like  him  to  have  proof 
that  I  believe  in  him."  Again  Mr.  Graham  was  the  art 
merchant.  "Though,  of  course,  I  can't  pay  the  five 
thousand  you  ask.  Hunt's  new  manner  may  catch  on, 
and  it  may  not.  It 's  a  big  gamble." 

"What  will  you  pay?" 

"What  you  paid  for  it  —  three  thousand." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        137 

"That's  an  awful  drop  from  what  I  expected.  When 
can  you  pay  it?" 

"I'll  send  you  my  check  by  an  assistant  as  soon  as  I 
get  back  to  my  place." 

"I  told  you  I  was  squeezed  financially  —  so  the  pic- 
ture is  yours.  I'll  send  you  Mr.  Hunt's  present  address 
when  I  receive  your  check.  Make  it  payable  to  'cash.'" 

When  Mr.  Graham  had  gone  with  the  Italian  mother  — 
it  was  then  the  very  end  of  the  afternoon  —  Larry  won- 
dered if  his  plan  to  draw  Hunt  out  of  his  hermitage  was 
going  to  succeed;  and  wondered  what  would  be  the  result, 
if  any,  upon  the  relationship  between  Hunt  and  Miss 
Sherwood  if  Hunt  should  come  openly  back  into  his 
world  an  acclaimed  success,  and  come  with  the  changed 
attitude  toward  every  one  and  every  thing  that  recog- 
nition bestows. 

But  something  was  to  make  Larry  wonder  even  more 
a  few  minutes  later.  Dick,  that  habitual  late  riser,  had 
had  to  hurry  away  that  morning  without  speaking  to 
him.  Now,  when  he  came  home  toward  six  o'clock,  Dick 
shouted  cheerily  from  the  hallway: 

"Ahoy!  Where  you  anchored,  Captain  Nemo?" 

Larry  did  not  answer.  He  sat  over  his  papers  as  one 
frozen.  He  knew  now  whose  had  been  the  elusively 
familiar  voice  he  had  heard  outside  Maggie's  door.  It 
was  Dick  Sherwood's. 

Dick  paused  without  to  take  some  messages  from 
Judkins,  and  Larry's  mind  raced  feverishly.  Dick  Sher- 
wood was  the  victim  Maggie  and  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie 
were  so  cautiously  and  elaborately  trying  to  trim!  It 
seemed  an  impossible  coincidence.  But  no,  not  impos- 
sible, after  all.  Their  net  had  been  spread  for  just  such 
game:  a  young  man,  impressionable,  pleasure-loving, 
with  plenty  of  money,  and  with  no  strings  tied  to  his 
spending  of  it.  That  Barney  should  have  made  his 
acquaintance  was  easily  explained;  to  establish  acquaint- 


138        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

ances  with  such  persons  as  Dick  was  Barney's  specialty. 
What  more  natural  than  that  the  high-spirited,  irre- 
sponsible Dick  should  fall  into  this  trap?  —  or  indeed 
that  he  should  have  been  picked  out  in  advance  as  the 
ideal  victim  and  have  been  drawn  into  it? 

"Hello,  there!"  grumbled  Dick,  entering.  "Why  did 
n't  you  answer  a  shipmate's  hail?" 

"I  heard  you;  but  just  then  I  was  adding  a  column  of 
figures,  and  I  knew  you  'd  look  in." 

At  that  moment  Larry  noted  the  portrait  of  Maggie, 
looking  up  from  the  chair  beside  him.  With  a  swiftness 
which  he  tried  to  disguise  into  a  mechanical  action,  he 
seized  the  painting  and  rolled  it  up,  face  inside. 

"What's  that  you've  got?"  demanded  Dick. 

"Just  a  little  daub  of  my  own." 

"So  you  paint,  too.  What  else  can  you  do?  Let's 
have  a  look." 

"It's  too  rotten.  I'd  rather  let  you  see  something 
else  —  though  all  my  stuff  is  bad." 

"You  wouldn't  do  any  little  thing,  would  you,  to 
brighten  this  tiredest  hour  in  the  day  of  a  tired  business 
man,"  complained  Dick.  "I've  really  been  a  business 
man  to-day,  Captain.  Worked  like  the  devil  —  or  an 
angel  —  whichever  works  the  harder." 

He  lit  a  cigarette  and  settled  with  a  sigh  on  the  corner 
of  Larry's  desk.  Larry  regarded  him  with  a  stranger  and 
more  contradicting  mixture  of  feelings  than  he  had  ever 
thought  to  contain:  solicitude  for  Dick  —  jealousy  of 
him  —  and  the  instinct  to  protect  Maggie.  This  last 
seemed  to  Larry  grotesquely  absurd  the  instant  it 
seethed  up  in  him,  but  there  the  instinct  was:  was  Dick 
treating  Maggie  right? 

"How  was  the  show  last  night,  Dick?" 

"Punk!" 

"I  thought  you  said  you  were  to  see  'The  Jest.'  I've 
heard  it's  one  of  the  best  things  for  years." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND      '  139 

"Oh,  I  guess  the  show's  all  right.  But  the  company 
was  poor.  My  company,  I  mean.  The  person  I  wanted 
to  see  could  n't  come." 

"Hope  you  had  a  supper  party  that  made  up  for  the 
disappointment,"  pursued  Larry,  adroitly  trying  to  lead 
him  on. 

"I  sure  had  that,  Captain!" 

Dick  slid  to  a  chair  beside  Larry,  dropped  a  hand  on 
Larry's  knee,  and  said  in  a  lowered  tone: 

"Captain,  I  've  recently  met  a  new  girl  —  and  believe 
me,  she's  a  knock-out!" 

"Better  keep  clear  of  those  show  girls,  Dick." 

"Never  again!  The  last  one  cured  me  for  life.  Miss 
Cameron  —  Maggie  Cameron,  how's  that  for  a  name?  — 
is  no  Broadway  girl,  Captain.  She's  not  even  a  New 
York  girl." 

"No?" 

"She's  from  some  place  out  West.  Father  owned 
several  big  ranches.  She  says  that  explains  her  crudeness. 
Her  crude?  I  should  say  not!  They  don't  grow  better 
manners  right  here  in  New  York.  And  she 's  pretty,  and 
clever,  and  utterly  naive  about  everything  in  New  York. 
Though  I  must  say,"  Dick  added,  "  that  I  'm  not  so  keen 
about  her  cousin  and  her  uncle.  I'd  met  the  cousin  a 
few  times  the  last  year  or  two  around  town;  he  belongs 
here.  The  two  are  the  sort  of  poor  stock  that  crops  out  in 
every  good  family.  They  Ve  got  one  merit,  though :  they 
don't  try  to  impose  on  her  too  much." 

"What  is  your  Miss  Cameron  doing  in  New  York?" 

"Having  her  first  look  at  the  town  before  going  to 
some  resort  for  the  summer;  perhaps  taking  a  cottage 
somewhere.  I  say,  Captain"  —  leaning  closer  —  "I  wish 
you  did  n't  feel  you  had  to  stick  around  this  apartment 
so  tight.  I  'd  like  to  take  you  out  and  introduce  you  to  her." 

Larry  could  imagine  the  resulting  scene  if  ever  this 
innocently  proposed  introduction  were  given. 


140       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"  I  guess  that  for  the  present  I  '11  have  to  depend  upon 
your  reports,  Dick." 

"Well,  you  can  take  it  from  me  that  she's  just  about 
all  right!" 

It  was  Larry's  strange  instinct  to  protect  Maggie  that 
prompted  his  next  remark: 

"You're  not  just  out  joy-riding,  are  you,  Dick?" 

Dick  flushed.  "Nothing  of  that  sort.  She's  not  that 
kind  of  girl.  Besides  —  I  think  it's  the  real  thing, 
Captain." 

The  honest  look  in  Dick's  eyes,  even  more  than  his 
words,  quieted  Larry's  fear  for  Maggie.  Presently  Dick 
walked  out  leaving  Larry  yet  another  problem  added 
to  his  life.  He  could  not  let  anything  happen  to  Maggie. 
He  could  not  let  anything  happen  to  Dick.  He  had  to 
protect  each;  he  had  to  do  something.  Yet  what  could 
he  do? 

Yes,  this  certainly  was  a  problem!  He  paced  the  room, 
another  victim  of  the  ancient  predicament  of  divided  and 
antagonistic  duty. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  night  of  Larry's  unexpected  call  upon  her  at  the 
Grantham,  Maggie  had  pulled  herself  together  and 
aided  by  the  imposing  Miss  Grierson  had  done  her  best 
as  ingenue  hostess  to  her  pseudo-cousin,  Barney,  and  her 
pseudo-uncle,  Old  Jimmie,  and  to  their  quarry,  Dick 
Sherwood,  whom  they  were  so  cautiously  stalking.  But 
when  Dick  had  gone,  and  when  Miss  Grierson  had  with- 
drawn to  permit  her  charge  a  little  visit  with  her  rela- 
tives, Barney  had  been  prompt  with  his  dissatisfaction. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  you  to-night,  Maggie?" 
he  demanded.  "You  didn't  play  up  to  your  usual 
form," 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        141 

"If  you  don't  like  the  way  I  did  it,  you  may  get  some 
one  else,"  Maggie  snapped  back. 

"Aw,  don't  get  sore.  If  I  'm  stage-managing  this  show, 
I  guess  it 's  my  business  to  tell  you  how  to  act  the  part, 
and  to  tell  you  when  you  're  endangering  the  success  of 
the  piece  by  giving  a  poor  performance." 

"Maybe  you'd  better  get  some  one  else  to  take  my 
part  right  now." 

Maggie's  tone  and  look  were  implacable.  Barney 
moved  uneasily.  That  was  the  worst  about  Maggie:  she 
wouldn't  take  advice  from  any  one  unless  the  advice 
were  a  coincidence  with  or  an  enlargement  of  her  own 
wishes,  and  she  was  particularly  temperish  to-night.  He 
hastened  to  appease  her. 

" I  guess  the  best  of  us  have  our  off  days.  It's  all  right 
unless"  —  Barney  hesitated,  business  fear  and  jealousy 
suddenly  seizing  him  —  "unless  the  way  you  acted  to- 
night means  you  don't  intend  to  go  through  with  it." 

"Why  should  n't  I  go  through  with  it?" 

"No  reason.  Unless  you  acted  as  you  did  to-night 
because" — again  Barney  hesitated;  again  jealousy 
prompted  him  on  —  "because  you've  heard  in  some  way 
from  Larry  Brainard.  Have  you  heard  from  Larry?" 

Maggie  met  his  gaze  without  flinching.  She  would 
take  the  necessary  measures  in  the  morning  with  Miss 
Grierson  to  keep  that  lady  from  indiscreet  talking. 

"  I  have  not  heard  from  Larry,  and  if  I  had,  it  would  n't 
be  any  of  your  business,  Barney  Palmer!" 

He  chose  to  ignore  the  verbal  slap  in  his  face  of  her  last 
phrase.  "No,  I  guess  you  haven't  heard  from  Larry. 
And  I  guess  none  of  us  will  hear  from  him  —  not  for  a 
long  time.  He's  certainly  fixed  himself  for  fair!" 

"He  sure  has,"  agreed  Old  Jimmie. 

Maggie  said  nothing. 

"Seems  to  me  we 've  got  this  young  Sherwood  hooked," 
said  Old  Jimmie,  who  had  been  impatient  during  this 


I42        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

unprofitable  bickering.  "Seems  to  me  it's  time  to  settle 
just  how  we're  going  to  get  his  dough.  How  about  it, 
Barney?" 

"Plenty  of  time  for  that,  Jimmie.  This  is  a  big  fish, 
and  we've  got  to  be  absolutely  sure  we've  got  him 
hooked  so  he  can't  get  off.  We  Ve  got  to  play  safe  here ; 
it's  worth  waiting  for,  believe  me.  Besides,  all  the  while 
Maggie's  getting  practice." 

"Seems  to  me  we  ought  to  make  our  clean-up  quick. 
So  that  — so  that — " 

"See  here  —  you  think  you  got  some  other  swell  game 
you  want  to  use  Maggie  in?" 

Old  Jimmie's  shifty  gaze  wavered  before  Barney's 
glare. 

"No.  But  she's  my  daughter,  ain't  she?" 

"Yes.  But  who's  running  this?"  Barney  demanded. 
Thank  Heavens,  Old  Jimmie  was  one  person  he  did  not 
have  to  treat  like  a  prima  donna! 

"You  are." 

"Then  shut  up,  and  let  me  run  it!" 

"You  might  at  least  tell  if  you've  decided  how  you're 
going  to  run  it,"  persisted  Old  Jimmie. 

"Will  you  shut  up!"  snapped  Barney. 

Old  Jimmie  said  no  more.  And  having  asserted  his 
supremacy  over  at  least  one  of  the  two,  Barney  relented 
and  condescended  to  talk,  lounging  back  in  his  chair  with 
that  self-conscious  grace  which  had  helped  make  him  a 
figure  of  increasing  note  in  the  gayer  restaurants  of 
New  York. 

It  did  not  enter  into  Barney's  calculations,  present  or 
for  the  future,  to  make  Maggie  the  mistress  of  any  man. 
Not  that  Barney  was  restrained  by  moral  considerations. 
The  thing  was  just  bad  business.  Such  a  woman  makes 
but  comparatively  little;  and  what  is  worse,  if  she 
chooses,  she  makes  it  all  for  herself.  And  Barney,  in  his 
cynical  wisdom  of  his  poor  world,  further  knew  that  the 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        143 

average  man  enticed  into  this  poor  trap,  after  the  woman 
has  said  yes,  and  after  the  first  brief  freshness  has  lost  its 
bloom,  becomes  a  tight- wad  and  there  is  little  real  money 
to  be  got  from  him  for  any  one. 

"It's  like  this:  once  we've  got  this  Sherwood  bird 
safely  hooked,"  expanded  Barney  with  the  air  of  an 
authority,  flicking  off  his  cigarette  ash  with  his  best 
restaurant  manner,  "we  can  play  the  game  a  hundred 
ways.  But  the  marriage  proposition  is  the  best  bet,  and 
there  are  two  best  ways  of  working  that." 

"Which  d'  you  think  we  ought  to  use,  Barney?"  in- 
quired Old  Jimmie. 

But  Barney  went  on  as  if  the  older  man  had  not  asked 
a  question.  "Both  ways  depend  upon  Sherwood  being 
crazy  in  love,  and  upon  his  coming  across  with  a  pro- 
posal and  sticking  to  it.  The  first  way,  after  being  pro- 
posed to,  Maggie  must  break  down  and  confess  she's 
married  to  a  man  she  does  n't  love  and  who  does  n't  love 
her.  This  husband  would  probably  give  her  a  divorce, 
but  he's  a  cagy  guy  and  is  out  for  the  coin,  and  if  he 
smelled  that  she  wanted  to  remarry  some  one  with 
money  he  would  demand  a  large  price  for  her  freedom. 
Maggie  must  further  confess  that  she  really  has  no 
money,  and  is  therefore  helpless.  Then  Sherwood  offers 
to  meet  the  terms  of  this  brute  of  a  husband.  If  Sher- 
wood falls  for  this  we  shove  in  a  dummy  husband 
who  takes  Sherwood's  dough  —  and  a  big  bank  roll  it 
will  be!  —  and  that'll  be  the  last  Sherwood  '11  ever  see 
of  Maggie." 

Old  Jimmie  nodded.  "When  it's  worked  right,  that 
always  brings  home  the  kale." 

"The   only   question   is,"    continued    Barney,    "can 
Maggie  put  that  stuff  over?    How  about  it,  Maggie? 
Think  you're  good  enough  to  handle  a  proposition  like 
that?" 
„  Looking  the  handsome  Barney  straight  in  the  eyes, 


144        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Maggie  for  the  moment  thought  only  of  his  desire  to 
manage  her  and  of  the  challenge  in  his  tone.  Larry  and 
the  appeal  he  had  made  to  her  were  forgotten,  as  was 
also  Dick  Sherwood. 

"Anything  you're  good  enough  to  think  up,  Barney 
Palmer,  I  guess  I  'm  good  enough  to  put  over,"  she 
answered  coolly. 

And  then:  "What's  the  other  way?"  she  asked. 

"Old  stuff.  Have  to  be  a  sure-enough  marriage. 
Sherwoods  are  big-time  people,  you  know ;  a  sister  who 's 
a  regular  somebody.  After  marriage,  family  permitted  to 
learn  truth  —  perhaps  something  much  worse  than  truth. 
Family  horrified.  They  pay  Maggie  a  big  wad  for  a 
separation  —  same  as  so  many  horrified  families  get  rid 
of  daughters-in-law  they  don't  like.  Which  of  the  ways 
suits  you  best,  Maggie?" 

Maggie  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  indifference.  It 
suited  her  present  mood  to  maintain  her  attitude  of  being 
equal  to  any  enterprise. 

"Which  do  you  like  best,  Barney?"  Old  Jimmie  asked. 

"The  second  is  safer.  But  then  it's  slower;  and  there 
would  be  lawyers'  fees  which  would  eat  into  our  profits; 
and  then  because  of  the  publicity  we  might  have  to  wait 
some  time  before  it  would  be  safe  to  use  Maggie  again. 
The  first  plan  is  n't  so  complicated,  it's  quick,  and  at  once 
we've  got  Maggie  free  to  use  in  other  operations.  The 
first  looks  the  best  bet  to  me  —  but,  as  I  said,  we  don't 
have  to  decide  yet.  We  can  let  developments  help  make 
the  actual  decision  for  us." 

Barney  did  not  add  that  a  further  reason  for  his  ob- 
jecting to  the  second  plan  was  that  he  did  n't  want 
Maggie  actually  tied  in  marriage  to  any  man.  That  was 
a  relationship  his  hopes  were  reserving  for  himself. 

Barney's  inborn  desire  for  acknowledged  chieftainship 
again  craved  assertion  and  pressed  him  on  to  say: 

"You  see,  Maggie,  how  much  depends  on  you.  You 've 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        145 

got  a  whale  of  a  chance  for  a  beginner.  I  hope  you  take  a 
big  brace  over  to-night  and  play  up  to  the  possibilities  of 
your  part." 

"You  take  care  of  your  end,  and  I'll  take  care  of 
mine!"  was  her  sharp  retort. 

Barney  was  flustered  for  a  moment  by  his  second 
failure  to  dominate  Maggie.  "Oh,  well,  we'll  not  row," 
he  tried  to  say  easily.  "We  understand  each  other,  and 
we  're  each  trying  to  help  the  other  fellow's  game  — 
that's  the  main  point." 

The  two  men  left,  Jimmie  without  kissing  his  daughter 
good-night.  This  caused  Maggie  no  surprise.  A  kiss,  not 
the  lack  of  it,  would  have  been  the  thing  that  would  have 
excited  wonder  in  Maggie. 

Barney  went  away  well  satisfied  on  the  whole  with  the 
manner  in  which  the  affair  was  progressing,  and  with  his 
management  of  it  and  of  Maggie.  Maggie  was  obstinate, 
to  be  sure;  but  he'd  soon  work  that  out  of  her.  He  was 
now  fully  convinced  of  the  soundness  of  his  explanation 
of  Maggie's  poor  performance  of  that  night:  she  had  just 
had  an  off  day. 

As  for  Maggie,  after  they  had  gone  she  sat  up  long, 
thinking  —  and  her  thoughts  reverted  irresistibly  to 
Larry.  His  visit  had  been  most  distracting.  But  she  was 
not  going  to  let  it  affect  her  purpose.  If  anything,  she  was 
more  determined  than  ever  to  be  what  she  had  told  him 
she  was  going  to  be,  to  prove  to  him  that  he  could  not 
influence  her. 

She  tried  to  keep  her  mind  off  Larry,  but  she  could  not. 
He  was  for  her  so  many  questions.  How  had  he  escaped? 
—  thrown  off  both  police  and  old  friends?  Where  was  he 
now?  What  was  he  doing?  And  when  and  how  was  he 
going  to  reappear  and  interfere?  —  for  Maggie  had  no 
doubt,  now  that  she  knew  him  to  be  in  New  York,  that  he 
would  come  again,  and  again  try  to  check  her. 

And  there  was  a  matter  which  she  no  more  understood 


146       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

than  Larry,  and  this  was  another  of  her  questions:  Why 
had  she  gone  into  a  panic  and  aided  his  escape? 

Of  course,  she  now  and  then  thought  of  Dick  Sherwood. 
She  rather  liked  Dick.  But  thus  far  she  regarded  him 
exactly  as  her  scheme  of  life  had  presented  him  to  her: 
as  a  pleasant  dupe  who,  in  an  exciting  play  in  which  she 
had  the  thrilling  lead,  was  to  be  parted  from  his  money. 
She  was  rather  sorry  for  him;  but  this  was  business,  and 
her  sorrow  was  not  going  to  interfere  with  what  she  was 
going  to  do. 

Maggie  Cameron,  at  this  period  of  her  life,  was  not 
deeply  introspective.  She  did  not  realize  what,  according 
to  other  standards,  this  thing  was  which  she  was  doing. 
She  was  merely  functioning  as  she  had  been  taught  to 
function.  And  if  any  change  was  beginning  in  her,  she 
was  thus  far  wholly  unconscious  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XX 

LARRY'S  new  problem  was  the  most  difficult  and  delicate 
dilemma  of  his  life  —  this  divided  loyalty :  to  balk  Maggie 
and  the  two  men  behind  her  without  revealing  the  truth 
about  Maggie  to  Dick,  to  protect  Dick  without  betray- 
ing Maggie.  It  certainly  was  a  trying,  baffling  situation. 

He  had  no  such  foolish  idea  that  he  could  change  Maggie 
by  exposing  her.  At  best  he  would  merely  render  her 
incapable  of  continuing  this  particular  course;  he  would 
increase  her  bitterness  and  hostility  to  him.  Anyhow,  ac- 
cording to  the  remnants  of  his  old  code,  that  would  n't 
be  playing  fair  —  particularly  after  her  aiding  his  escape 
when  he  had  been  trapped. 

Upon  only  one  point  was  he  clear,  and  on  this  he  be- 
came more  settled  with  every  hour:  whatever  he  did  he 
must  do  with  the  idea  of  a  fundamental  awakening  in 
Maggie.  Merely  to  foil  her  in  this  one  scheme  would  be  to 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        147 

solve  the  lesser  part  of  his  problem;  Maggie  would  be  left 
unchanged,  or  if  changed  at  all  the  change  would  be  to- 
ward a  greater  hardness,  and  his  major  problem  would  be 
made  more  difficult  of  solution. 

He  considered  many  ways.  He  thought  of  seeing  Mag- 
gie again,  and  once  more  appealing  to  her.  That  he 
vetoed,  not  because  of  the  danger  to  himself,  but  because 
he  knew  Maggie  would  not  see  him;  and  if  he  again  did 
break  in  upon  her  unexpectedly,  in  her  obstinate  pride  she 
would  heed  nothing  he  said.  He  thought  of  seeing  Barney 
and  Old  Jimmie  and  somehow  so  throwing  the  fear  of 
God  into  that  pair  that  they  would  withdraw  Maggie 
from  the  present  enterprise;  but  even  if  he  succeeded 
in  so  hazardous  an  undertaking,  again  Maggie  would  be 
left  unchanged.  He  thought  of  showing  Miss  Sherwood 
the  hidden  portrait  of  Maggie,  of  telling  her  all  and 
asking  her  aid;  but  this  he  also  vetoed,  for  it  seemed  a 
betrayal  of  Maggie. 

He  kept  going  back  to  one  plan :  not  a  plan  exactly,  but 
the  idea  upon  which  the  right  plan  might  be  based.  If 
only  he  could  adroitly,  with  his  hand  remaining  unseen, 
place  Maggie  in  a  situation  where  circumstances  would 
appeal  conqueringly  to  her  best  self,  to  her  latent  sense 
of  honor  —  that  was  the  idea !  But  cudgel  his  brain  as  he 
would,  Larry  could  not  just  then  develop  a  working  plan 
whose  foundation  was  that  idea. 

But  even  if  Larry  had  had  a  brilliant  plan  it  would 
hardly  have  been  possible  for  him  to  have  devoted  himself 
to  its  execution,  for  two  days  after  his  visit  to  Maggie  at 
the  Grantham,  the  Sherwoods  moved  out  to  their  summer 
place  some  forty  miles  from  the  city  on  the  North  Shore 
of  Long  Island ;  and  Larry  was  so  occupied  with  routine 
duties  pertaining  to  this  migration  that  at  the  moment 
he  had  time  for  little  else.  Cedar  Crest  was  individual 
yet  typical  of  the  better  class  of  Long  Island  summer 
residences.  It  was  a  long  white  building  of  many 


148        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

piazzas  and  many  wings,  set  on  a  bluff  looking  over  the 
Sound,  with  a  broad  stretch  of  silken  lawn,  and  about  it 
gardens  in  their  June  glory,  and  behind  the  house  a  couple 
of  hundred  acres  of  scrub  pine. 

On  the  following  day,  according  to  a  plan  that  had 
been  worked  out  between  Larry  and  Miss  Sherwood, 
Joe  Ellison  appeared  at  Cedar  Crest  and  was  given  the  as- 
sistant gardener's  cottage  which  stood  apart  on  the  bluff 
some  three  hundred  yards  east  of  the  house.  He  was 
a  tall,  slightly  bent,  white-haired  man,  apparently  once  a 
man  of  physical  strength  and  dominance  of  character  and 
with  the  outer  markings  of  a  gentleman,  but  now  seem- 
ingly a  mere  shadow  of  the  forceful  man  of  his  prime.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  Joe  Ellison  had  barely  escaped  that 
greatest  of  prison  scourges,  tuberculosis. 

The  roses  were  given  over  to  his  care.  For  a  few  brief 
years  during  the  height  of  his  prosperity  he  had  owned  a 
small  place  in  New  Jersey  and  during  that  period  had 
seemingly  been  the  country  gentleman.  Flowers  had 
been  his  hobby;  so  that  now  he  could  have  had  no  work 
which  would  have  more  suited  him  than  this  guardianship 
of  the  roses.  For  himself  he  desired  no  better  thing  than 
to  spend  what  remained  of  his  life  in  this  sunlit  privacy 
and  communion  with  growing  things. 

He  gripped  Larry's  hand  when  they  were  first  alone 
in  the  little  cottage.  "Thanks,  Larry;  I  '11  not  forget  this," 
he  said.  He  said  little  else.  He  did  not  refer  to  his  prison 
life,  or  what  had  gone  before  it.  He  had  never  asked  Larry, 
even  while  in  prison  together,  about  Larry's  previous 
activities  and  associates ;  and  he  asked  no  questions  now. 
Apparently  it  was  the  desire  of  this  silent  man  to  have  the 
bones  of  his  own  past  remain  buried,  and  to  leave  undis- 
turbed the  graves  of  others'  mistakes. 

A  retiring,  unobtrusive  figure,  he  settled  quickly  to  his 
work.  He  seemed  content,  even  happy;  and  at  times 
there  was  a  far-away,  exultant  look  in  his  gray  eyes. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        149 

Miss  Sherwood  caught  this  on  several  occasions;  it 
puzzled  her,  and  she  spoke  of  it  to  Larry.  Larry  under- 
stood what  lay  behind  Joe's  bearing,  and  since  the  thing 
had  never  been  told  to  him  as  a  secret  he  retold  that  por- 
tion of  Joe's  history  he  had  recited  to  the  Duchess:  of  a 
child  who  had  been  brought  up  among  honorable  people, 
protected  from  the  knowledge  that  her  father  was  a  con- 
vict —  a  child  Joe  never  expected  to  see  and  did  not  even 
know  how  to  find. 

Joe  Ellison  became  a  figure  that  moved  Miss  Sherwood 
deeply:  content  to  busy  himself  in  his  earthly  obscurity, 
ever  dreaming  and  gloating  over  his  one  great  sustaining 
thought  —  that  he  had  given  his  child  the  best  chance 
which  circumstances  permitted;  that  he  had  removed  him- 
self from  his  child's  life;  that  some  unknown  where  out 
in  the  world  his  child  was  growing  to  maturity  among 
clean,  wholesome  people;  that  he  never  expected  to  make 
himself  known  to  his  child.  The  situation  also  moved 
Larry  profoundly  whenever  he  looked  at  his  old  friend, 
merging  into  a  kindly  fellowship  with  the  earth. 

But  while  busy  with  new  affairs  at  Cedar  Crest,  Larry 
was  all  the  while  thinking  of  Maggie,  and  particularly 
of  his  own  dilemma  regarding  Maggie  and  Dick.  But  the 
right  plan  still  refused  to  take  form  in  his  brain.  How- 
ever, one  important  detail  occurred  to  him  which  required 
immediate  attention.  If  his  procedure  in  regard  to  Hunt's 
pictures  succeeded  in  drawing  the  painter  from  his  hermit- 
age, nothing  was  more  likely  than  that  Hunt  unexpectedly 
would  happen  upon  Maggie  in  the  company  of  Dick 
Sherwood.  That  might  be  a  catastrophe  to  Larry's  un- 
formed plan;  it  had  to  be  forestalled  if  possible.  Such  a 
matter  could  not  be  handled  in  a  letter,  with  the  police 
opening  all  mail  coming  to  the  Duchess's  house.  So  once 
more  he  decided  upon  a  secret  visit  to  the  Duchess's 
house.  He  figured  that  such  a  visit  would  be  compara- 
tively without  risk,  since  the  police  and  Barney  Palmer 


150       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

and  the  gangsters  Barney  had  put  upon  his  trail  all  still 
believed  him  somewhere  in  the  West. 

Accordingly,  a  few  nights  after  they  had  settled  at 
Cedar  Crest,  he  motored  into  New  York  in  a  roadster 
Miss  Sherwood  had  placed  at  his  disposal,  and  after  the 
necessary  precautions  he  entered  Hunt's  studio.  The 
room  was  dismantled,  and  Hunt  sat  among  his  packed 
belongings  smoking  his  pipe. 

"Well,  young  fellow,"  growled  Hunt  after  they  had 
shaken  hands,  "you  see  you 've  driven  me  from  my  happy 
home." 

"Then  Mr.  Graham  has  been  to  see  you?" 

"Yes.  And  he  put  up  to  me  your  suggestion  about  a 
private  exhibition.  And  I  fell  for  it.  And  I  've  got  to  go 
back  among  the  people  I  used  to  know.  And  wear  good 
clothes  and  put  on  a  set  of  standardized  good  manners. 
Hell!" 

"You  don't  like  it?" 

"I  suppose,  if  the  exhibition  is  a  go,  I'll  like  grinning 
at  the  bunch  that  thought  I  couldn't  paint.  You  bet 
I'll  like  that!  You,  young  fellow  —  I  suppose  you're 
here  to  gloat  over  me  and  to  try  to  collect  your  five 
thousand." 

"  I  never  gloat  over  doing  such  an  easy  job  as  that  was. 
And  I  'm  not  here  to  collect  my  bet.  As  far  as  money  is 
concerned,  I'm  here  to  give  you  some."  And  he  handed 
Hunt  the  check  made  out  to  "cash"  which  Mr.  Graham 
had  sent  him  for  the  Italian  mother. 

"Better  keep  that  on  account  of  what  I  owe  you," 
advised  Hunt. 

"  I  'd  rather  you  'd  hold  it  for  me.  And  better  still,  I  'd 
rather  call  the  bet  off  in  favor  of  a  new  bargain." 

"What's  the  new  proposition  for  swindling  me?" 

"You  need  a  business  nursemaid.  What  commission 
do  you  pay  dealers?" 

"Been  paying  those  burglars  forty  per  cent." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        151 

"That's  too  much  for  doing  nothing.  Here's  my 
proposition.  Give  me  ten  per  cent  to  act  as  your  personal 
agent,  and  I  '11  guarantee  that  your  total  percentage  for 
commissions  will  be  less  than  at  present,  and  that  your 
prices  will  be  doubled.  Of  course  I  can't  do  much  while 
the  police  and  others  are  so  darned  interested  in  me,  so  if 
you  accept  we'll  just  date  the  agreement  from  the  time 
I'm  cleared." 

"You're  on,  son  —  and  we'll  just  date  the  agreement 
from  the  present  moment,  A.D."  Again  Hunt  gripped 
Larry's  hand.  "  You  're  all  to  the  good,  Larry  -^  and  I  'm 
not  giving  you  half  enough." 

That  provided  Larry  with  the  opening  he  had  desired. 
"You  can  make  it  up  to  me." 

"How?" 

"  By  helping  me  out  with  a  proposition  of  my  own.  To 
come  straight  to  the  point,  it's  Maggie." 

"Maggie?" 

"I  guess  you  know  how  I  feel  there.  She's  got  a  wrong 
set  of  ideas,  and  she 's  fixed  in  them  —  and  you  know  how 
high-spirited  she  is.  She's  out  in  the  world  now,  trying 
to  put  something  crooked  over  which  she  thinks  is  big. 
I  know  what  it  is.  I  want  to  stop  her,  and  change  her. 
That's  my  big  aim  —  to  change  her.  The  only  way  I  can 
at  this  moment  stop  what  she  is  now  doing  is  by  exposing 
her.  And  mighty  few  people  with  a  wrong  twist  are  ever 
set  right  by  merely  being  exposed." 

"I  guess  you're  right  there,  Larry." 

"What  I  want  is  a  chance  to  try  another  method  on 
Maggie.  If  she's  handled  right  I  think  she  may  turn 
out  a  very  different  person  from  what  she  seems  to  be  — • 
something  that  may  surprise  both  of  us." 

Hunt  nodded.  "That  was  why  I  painted  her  picture. 
Since  I  first  saw  her  I  Ve  been  interested  in  how  she  was 
going  to  come  out.  She  might  become  anything.  But 
where  do  I  fit  in?" 


152        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"She's  flying  in  high  company.  It  occurred  to  me  that, 
when  you  got  back  to  your  own  world,  you  might  meet 
her,  and  in  your  surprise  you  might  speak  to  her  in  a 
manner  which  would  be  equivalent  in  its  effect  to  an  in- 
tentional exposure.  I  wanted  to  put  you  on  your  guard 
and  to  ask  you  to  treat  her  as  a  stranger." 

"That's  promised.   I  won't  know  her." 
•    "Don't  promise  till  you  know  the  rest." 

"What  else  is  there  to  know?" 

"Who  the  sucker  is  they're  trying  to  trim."  Larry 
regarded  the  other  steadily.  "You  know  him.  He's  Dick 
Sherwood." 

"Dick  Sherwood!"  exploded  Hunt.  "Are  you  sure 
about  that?" 

"  I  was  with  Maggie  the  other  night  when  Dick  came  to 
have  supper  with  her;  he  did  n't  see  me.  Besides,  Dick 
has  told  me  about  her." 

"How  did  they  ever  get  hold  of  Dick?" 

"Dick's  the  easiest  kind  of  fish  for  two  such  smooth 
men  as  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  when  they've  got  a 
clever,  good-looking  girl  as  bait,  and  when  they  know 
how  to  use  her.  He's  generous,  easily  impressed,  thinks 
he  is  a  wise  man  of  the  world  and  is  really  very  gullible." 

"Have  they  got  him  hooked?" 

"Hard  and  fast.  It  won't  be  his  fault  if  they  don't  land 
him." 

The  painter  gazed  at  Larry  with  a  hard  look.  Then  he 
demanded  abruptly: 

"Show  Miss  Sherwood  that  picture  of  Maggie  I 
painted?" 

"No.   I  had  my  reasons." 

"What  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"Keep  it,  and  pay  you  your  top  price  for  it  when  I've 
got  the  money." 

"H'm!  Told  Miss  Sherwood  what's  doing  about 
Dick?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        153 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  thought  of  doing  it,  then  I  decided  against  it.  For 
the  same  reason  I  just  gave  you  —  that  it  might  lead  to 
exposure,  and  that  exposure  would  defeat  my  plans." 

"You  seem  to  be  forgetting  that  your  plan  leaves  Dick 
in  danger.  Dick  deserves  some  consideration." 

"And  I'm  giving  it  to  him,"  argued  Larry.  "I'm 
thinking  of  him  as  much  as  of  Maggie.  Or  almost  as 
much.  His  sister  and  friends  have  pulled  him  out  of  a  lot 
of  scrapes.  He 's  not  a  bit  wiser  or  better  for  that  kind  of 
help.  And  it's  not  going  to  do  him  any  good  whatever  to 
have  some  one  step  in  and  take  care  of  him  again.  He 's 
been  a  good  friend  to  me,  but  he's  a  dear  fool.  I  want  to 
handle  this  so  he'll  get  a  jolt  that  will  waken  him  up  — 
make  him  take  his  responsibilities  more  seriously  — 
make  him  able  to  take  care  of  himself." 

"Huh!"  grunted  Hunt.  "You've  certainly  picked  out 
a  few  man-sized  jobs  for  yourself:  to  make  a  success  of  the 
straight  life  for  yourself  —  to  come  out  ahead  of  the  police 
and  your  old  pals  —  to  make  Maggie  love  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments —  to  put  me  across  —  to  make  Dick  into  a 
level-headed  citizen.  Any  other  little  item  you'd  like  to 
take  on?" 

Larry  ignored  the  irony  of  the  question.  "Some  of  those 
things  I'm  going  to  do,"  he  said  confidently.  "And  any 
I  see  I'm  going  to  fail  in,  I'll  get  warning  to  the  people 
involved.  But  to  come  back  to  your  promise:  are  you 
willing  to  give  your  promise  now  that  you  know  all  the 
facts?" 

Hunt  pulled  for  a  long  moment  at  his  pipe.  Then  he 
said  almost  gruffly: 

"I  guess  you've  guessed  that  Isabel  Sherwood  is  about 
the  most  important  person  in  the  world  to  me?" 

That  was  the  nearest  Hunt  had  ever  come  to  telling 
that  he  loved  Miss  Sherwood.  Larry  nodded. 


154        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"I'm  in  bad  there  already.  Suppose  your  foot  slips 
and  everything  about  Dick  goes  wrong.  What '11  be  my 
situation  when  she  learns  I  've  known  all  along  and  have 
just  stood  by  quietly  and  let  things  happen?  See  what 
I  '11  be  letting  myself  in  for?" 

"I  do,"  said  Larry,  his  spirits  sinking.  "And  of  course 
I  can  understand  your  decision  not  to  give  your  prom- 
ise." 

"Who  said  I  wouldn't  give  my  promise?"  demanded 
Hunt.  "Of  course  I  give  my  promise!  All  I  said  was  that 
the  weather  bureau  of  my  bad  toe  predicts  that  there's 
likely  to  be  a  storm  because  of  this  —  and  I  want  you  to 
use  your  brain,  son,  I  want  you  to  use  your  brain!" 

He  upreared  his  big,  shag-haired  figure  and  gripped 
Larry's  hand.  "You're  all  right,  Larry  —  and  here's 
wishing  you  luck!  Now  get  to  hell  out  of  here  before 
Ga vegan  and  Casey  drop  in  for  a  cup  of  tea,  or  your  old 
friends  begin  target  practice  with  their  hip  artillery.  I 
want  a  little  quiet  in  which  to  finish  my  packing. 

"And  say,  son,"  he  added,  as  he  pushed  Larry  through 
the  door,  "don't  fall  dead  at  the  sight  of  me  when  you 
see  me  next,  for  I  'm  likely  to  be  walking  around  inside 
all  the  finery  and  vanity  of  Fifth  Avenue." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LARRY  came  down  the  stairway  from  Hunt's  studio  in  a 
mood  of  high  elation.  Through  Hunt's  promise  of  coopera- 
tion he  had  at  least  made  a  start  in  his  unformed  plan  re- 
garding Maggie.  Somehow,  he  'd  work  out  and  put  across 
the  rest  of  it. 

Then  Hunt's  prediction  of  the  trouble  that  might 
rise  through  his  silence  recurred  to  Larry.  Indeed,  that 
was  a  delicate  situation !  —  containing  all  kinds  of  possible 
disasters  for  himself  as  well  as  for  Hunt.  He  would  have 


'  CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        155 

to  be  most  watchful,  most  careful,  or  he  would  find  himself 
entangled  in  worse  circumstances  than  at  present. 

As  he  came  down  into  the  little  back  room,  his  grand- 
mother was  sitting  over  her  interminable  accounts,  each 
of  which  represented  a  little  profit  to  herself,  some  a  little 
relief  to  many,  some  a  tragedy  to  a  few;  and  many  of 
which  were  in  code,  for  these  represented  transactions 
of  a  character  which  no  pawnshop,  particularly  one  re- 
puted to  be  a  fence,  wishes  ever  to  have  understood  by 
those  presumptive  busy-bodies,  the  police.  When  Larry 
had  first  entered,  she  had  merely  given  him  an  unsur- 
prised "good-evening"  and  permitted  him  to  pass  on. 
But  now,  as  he  told  her  good-night  and  turned  to  leave, 
she  said  in  her  thin,  monotonous  voice : 

"Sit  down  for  a  minute,  Larry.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Larry  obeyed.    "Yes,  grandmother." 

But  the  Duchess  did  not  at  once  speak.  She  held  her 
red-rimmed,  unblinking  eyes  on  him  steadily.  Larry 
waited  patiently.  Though  she  was  so  composed,  so  self- 
contained,  Larry  knew  her  well  enough  to  know  that  what 
was  passing  in  her  mind  was  something  of  deep  impor- 
tance, at  least  to  her. 

At  length  she  spoke.  "You  saw  Maggie  that  night  you 
hurried  away  from  here?" 

"Yes,  grandmother.  Have  you  heard  from  her  since 
then?  —  or  from  Barney  or  Old  Jimmie?" 

The  Duchess  shook  her  head.  "Do  you  mind  telling 
me  what  happened  that  night  —  and  what  Maggie's 
doing?" 

Larry  told  her  of  the  scene  in  Maggie's  suite  at  the 
Grantham,  told  of  the  plan  in  which  Maggie  was  in- 
volved and  of  his  own  added  predicament.  This  last 
the  Duchess  seemingly  ignored. 

"Just  about  what  I  supposed  she  was  doing,"  she  said. 
"And  you  tried  again  to  get  her  to  give  it  up?" 

"Yes." 


156        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"And  she  refused?" 

"Yes."  And  he  added:  "Refused  more  emphatically 
than  before." 

The  Duchess  studied  him  a  long  moment.  Then: 
"  You  're  not  trying  to  make  her  give  that  up  just  because 
you  think  she 's  worth  saving.  You  like  her  a  lot,  Larry?" 

"I  love  her,"  Larry  admitted. 

"  I  'm  sorry  about  that,  Larry."  There  was  real  emo- 
tion in  the  old  voice  now.  "  I've  told  you  that  you  're  all 
I  Ve  got  left.  And  now  that  you  've  at  last  started  right, 
I  want  everything  to  go  right  with  you.  Everything! 
And  Maggie  will  never  help  things  go  right  with  you. 
Your  love  for  her  can  only  mean  misery  and  misfortune. 
You  can't  change  her." 

Larry  came  out  with  the  questions  he  had  asked  him- 
self so  frequently  these  last  days.  "But  why  did  her  man- 
ner change  so  when  she  heard  Barney  and  the  others? 
Why  did  she  help  me  escape?" 

"That  was  because,  deep  down,  she  really  loves  you. 
That's  the  worst  part  of  it:  you  both  love  each  other." 
The  Duchess  slowly  nodded  her  head.  "You  both  love 
each  other.  If  it  was  n't  for  that  I  would  n't  care  what  you 
tried  to  do.  But  I  tell  you  again  you  can't  change  her. 
She's  too  sure  of  herself.  She'll  always  try  to  make  you 
go  her  way  —  and  if  you  don't,  you  '11  never  get  a  smile 
from  her.  And  because  you  love  each  other,  I  'm  afraid 
you'll  give  in  and  go  her  way.  That's  what  I  'm  afraid  of. 
Won't  you  just  cut  her  out  of  your  life,  Larry?" 

It  had  been  a  prodigiously  long  speech  for  the  Duchess. 
And  Larry  realized  that  the  emotion  behind  it  was  a 
thousand  times  what  showed  in  the  thin  voice  of  the  bent, 
gestureless  figure. 

"For  your  sake  I  'm  sorry,  grandmother.  But  I  can't." 

"Then  it's  only  fair  to  tell  you,  Larry,"  she  said  in  a 
more  composed  tone  which  expressed  a  finality  of  deci- 
sion, "that  if  there's  ever  any  tiling  I  can  do  to  stop 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        157 

this,  I  '11  do  it.  For  she 's  bad  for  you  —  what  with  her 
stiff  spirit — and  the  ideas  Old  Jimmie  has  put  into  her — 
and  the  way  Old  Jimmie  has  brought  her  up.  I  '11  stop 
things  if  I  can." 

Larry  made  no  reply.  The  Duchess  continued  looking 
at  him  steadily  for  a  long  space.  He  knew  she  was  think- 
ing ;  and  he  was  wondering  what  was  passing  through  that 
shrewd  old  brain,  when  she  remarked: 

"By  the  way,  Larry,  I  just  remembered  what  you 
told  me  of  that  old  Sing  Sing  friend  —  Joe  Ellison. 
Have  you  heard  from  him  recently?" 

"He's  out,  and  he's  working  where  I  am." 

"Yes?  What 'she  doing?" 

"He's  working  there  as  a  gardener." 

Again  she  was  silent  a  space,  her  sunken  eyes  steady 
with  thought.  Then  she  said: 

"  From  the  time  he  was  twenty  till  he  was  thirty  I  knew 
Joe  Ellison  well  —  better  than  I  've  ever  told  you.  He 
knew  your  mother  when  she  was  a  girl,  Larry.  I  wish 
you  'd  ask  him  to  come  in  to  see  me.  As  soon  as  he  can 
manage  it." 

Larry  promised.  His  grandmother  said  no  more  about 
Maggie,  and  presently  Larry  bade  her  good-night  and 
made  his  cautious  way,  ever  on  the  lookout  for  danger, 
to  where  he  had  left  his  roadster,  and  thence  safely  out  to 
Cedar  Crest.  But  the  Duchess  sat  for  hours  exactly  as  he 
had  left  her,  her  accounts  unheeded,  thinking,  thinking, 
thinking  over  an  utterly  impossible  possibility  that  had 
first  presented  itself  faintly  to  her  several  days  before.  She 
did  not  see  how  the  thing  could  be;  and  yet  somehow  it 
might  be,  for  many  a  strange  thing  did  happen  in  this 
border  world  where  for  so  long  she  had  lived.  When 
finally  she  went  to  bed  she  slept  little;  her  busy  conjec- 
tures would  not  permit  sleep.  And  though  the  next  day 
she  went  about  her  shop  seemingly  as  usual,  she  was  still 
thinking. 


158     '  CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

That  night  Joe  Ellison  came.  They  met  as  though 
they  had  last  seen  each  other  but  yesterday. 

4 '  Good-evening,  Joe . ' ' 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Duchess." 

She  held  out  to  him  a  box  of  the  best  cigars,  which  she 
had  bought  against  his  coming,  for  she  had  remembered 
Joe  Ellison's  once  fastidious  taste  regarding  tobacco.  He 
lit  one,  and  they  fell  into  the  easy  silence  of  old  friends, 
taking  up  their  friendship  exactly  where  it  had  been  broken 
off.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Joe  Ellison  might  have  been  her 
son-in-law  but  for  her  own  firm  attitude.  He  had  known 
her  daughter  very  much  better  than  her  words  to  Larry 
the  previous  evening  had  indicated.  Not  only  had  Joe 
known  her  while  a  girl  down  here,  but  much  later  he  had 
learned  in  what  convent  she  was  going  to  school  and 
there  had  been  surreptitious  love-making  despite  convent 
rules  and  boundaries  —  till  the  Duchess  had  learned  what 
was  going  on.  She  had  had  a  square  out-and-out  talk 
with  Joe;  the  romance  had  suddenly  ended;  and  later 
Larry's  mother  had  married  elsewhere.  But  the  snuffed- 
out  romance  had  made  no  difference  in  the  friendship 
between  the  Duchess  and  Joe;  each  had  recognized  the 
other  as  square,  as  that  word  was  understood  in  their 
border  world. 

To  Joe  Ellison  the  Duchess  was  changed  but  little  since 
twenty-odd  years  ago.  She  had  seemed  old  even  then; 
though  as  a  youth  he  had  known  old  men  who  had  talked 
of  her  beauty  when  a  young  woman  and  of  how  she  had 
queened  it  among  the  reckless  spirits  of  that  far  time.  But 
to  the  Duchess  the  change  in  Joe  Ellison  was  astound- 
ing. She  had  last  seen  him  in  his  middle  thirties:  black- 
haired,  handsome,  careful  of  dress,  powerful  of  physique, 
dominant,  fiery-tempered,  fearless  of  any  living  thing, 
but  with  these  hot  qualities  checked  into  a  surface  ap- 
pearance of  unruffled  equanimity  by  his  self-control  and 
his  habitual  reticence.  And  now  to  see  him  thin,  white- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        159 

haired,  bent,  his  old  fire  seemingly  burned  to  gray  ashes  — 
the  Duchess,  who  had  seen  much  in  her  generations,  was 
almost  appalled  at  the  transformation. 

At  first  the  Duchess  skillfully  guided  the  talk  among 
commonplaces. 

"Larry  tells  me  you're  out  with  him." 

"Yes,"  said  Joe.    "Larry's  been  a  mighty  good  pal." 

"What 're  you  going  to  do  when  you  get  back  your 
strength?" 

"The  same  as  I'm  doing  now  —  if  they'll  let  me." 
And  after  a  pause:  "Perhaps  later,  if  I  had  the  necessary 
capital,  I'd  like  to  start  a  little  nursery.  Or  else  grow 
flowers  for  the  market." 

"Not  going  back  to  the  old  thing,  then?" 

Joe  shook  his  white  head.  "I'm  all  through  there. 
Flowers  are  a  more  interesting  proposition." 

"Whenever  you  get  ready  to  start,  Joe,  you  can  have 
all  the  capital  you  want  from  me.  And  it  will  cost  you 
nothing.  Or  if  you  'd  rather  pay,  it  '11  cost  you  the  same 
as  at  a  bank  —  six  per  cent." 

"Thanks.  I'll  remember."  Joe  Ellison  could  not  have 
spoken  his  gratitude  more  strongly. 

The  Duchess  now  carefully  guided  the  talk  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  thing  of  which  she  had  thought  so  constantly. 

"By  the  way,  Joe,  Larry  told  me  something  about  you 
I  'd  never  heard  before  —  that  you  had  been  married, 
and  had  a  child." 

"Yes.  You  did  n't  hear  because  I  was  n't  telling  any- 
body about  it  when  it  happened,  and  it  never  came  out." 

"Mind  telling  me  about  it,  Joe?" 

He  pulled  at  his  perfecto  while  assembling  his  facts; 
and  then  he  made  one  of  the  longest  speeches  Joe  Ellison 
—  "Silent  Joe"  some  of  his  friends  had  called  him  in  the 
old  days  —  was  ever  known  to  utter.  But  there  was 
reason  for  its  length ;  it  was  an  epitome  of  the  most  im- 
portant period  of  his  life. 


i6o       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"I  had  a  nice  little  country  place  over  in  Jersey  for 
three  or  four  years.  It  all  happened  there.  No  one  knew 
me  for  what  I  was;  they  took  me  for  what  I  pretended  to 
be,  a  small  capitalist  whose  interests  required  his  taking 
occasional  trips.  Nice  neighbors.  That's  where  I  met 
my  wife.  She  was  fine  every  way.  That's  why  I  kept  all 
that  part  of  my  life  from  my  pals ;  I  was  afraid  they  might 
leak  and  the  truth  would  spoil  everything.  My  wife  was 
an  orphan,  niece  of  the  widow  of  a  broker  who  lived  out 
there.  She  never  knew  the  truth  about  me.  She  died 
when  the  baby  was  born.  When  the  baby  was  a  year  and 
a  half  my  big  smash  came,  and  I  went  up  the  river.  But 
I  was  never  connected  up  with  the  man  who  lived  over  in 
Jersey  and  who  suddenly  cancelled  his  lease  and  moved 
away." 

The  Duchess  drew  nearer  to  the  heart  of  her  thoughts. 

"Was  the  baby  a  boy  or  girl,  Joe?" 

"Girl." 

The  Duchess  did  not  so  much  as  blink.  "How  old  would 
she  be  by  this  time?" 

"Eighteen." 

"What  was  her  name?" 

"Mary  —  after  her  mother.  But  of  course  I  ordered 
it  to  be  changed.  I  don't  know  what  her  name  is  now." 

The  Duchess  pressed  closer. 

"What  became  of  her,  Joe?" 

A  glow  began  to  come  into  the  somber  eyes  of  Joe 
Ellison.  "I  told  you  her  mother  was  a  fine  woman,  and 
she  never  knew  anything  bad  about  me.  I  wanted  my 
girl  to  grow  up  like  her  mother.  I  wanted  her  to  have  as 
good  a  chance  as  any  of  those  nice  girls  over  in  Jersey  — 
I  wanted  her  never  to  know  any  of  the  lot  I  Ve  known  — 
I  wanted  her  never  to  have  the  stain  of  knowing  her 
father  was  a  crook  —  I  wanted  her  never  to  know  even 
who  her  father  was." 

"How  did  you  manage  it?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        161 

"Her  mother  had  left  a  little  fortune,  about  twenty- 
five  thousand  —  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  a  year.  I 
turned  the  money  and  the  girl  over  to  my  best  pal  — 
and  the  squarest  pal  a  man  ever  had  —  the  only  one  I  'd 
let  know  about  my  Jersey  life.  I  told  him  what  to  do.  She 
was  an  awfully  bright  little  thing;  at  a  year  and  a  half, 
when  I  saw  her  last,  she  was  already  talking.  She  was  to 
be  brought  up  among  nice,  simple  people  —  go  to  a  good 
school  —  grow  up  to  be  a  nice,  simple  girl.  And  especially 
never  to  know  anything  about  me.  She  was  to  believe  her- 
self an  orphan.  And  my  pal  did  just  as  I  ordered.  He 
wrote  me  how  she  was  getting  on  till  about  four  years 
ago,  then  I  had  news  that  he  was  dead  and  that  the  trust 
fund  had  been  transferred  to  a  firm  of  lawyers,  though  I 
wasn't  given  the  name  of  the  lawyers.  That  doesn't 
make  any  difference  since  she 's  getting  the  money  just  the 
same." 

"What  was  your  pal's  name,  Joe?" 

"Jimmie  Carlisle." 

The  Duchess  had  been  certain  what  this  name  would 
be,  but  nevertheless  she  could  not  repress  a  start. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Joe  asked  sharply.  "Did  you 
know  him?" 

"Not  in  those  days,"  said  the  Duchess,  recovering  her 
even  tone.  "Though  I  got  to  know  him  later.  By  the 
way,"  she  added  casually,  "did  Jimmie  Carlisle  have  any 
children  of  his  own?" 

"Not  before  I  went  away.  He  was  n't  even  married." 

There  was  now  no  slightest  doubt  left  in  the  Duchess's 
mind.  Maggie  was  really  Joe  Ellison's  daughter. 

Joe  Ellison  went  on,  the  glow  of  his  sunken  eyes  be- 
coming yet  more  exalted.  He  was  almost  voicing  his 
thoughts  to  himself  alone,  for  his  friendship  with  the 
Duchess  was  so  old  that  her  presence  was  no  inhibition. 
His  low  words  were  almost  identical  in  substance  with 
what  Larry  had  told  —  a  summary  of  what  had  come  to 


162        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

be  his  one  great  hope  and  dream,  the  nearest  thing  he  had 
to  a  religion. 

"Somewhere,  in  a  nice  place,  my  girl  is  now  growing  up 
like  her  mother.  Clean  of  everything  I  was  and  I  knew. 
She  must  be  practically  a  woman  now.  I  don't  know  where 
she  is  —  there 's  now  no  way  for  me  to  learn.  And  I  don't 
want  to  know.  And  I  don't  want  her  ever  to  know  about 
me.  I  don't  ever  want  to  be  the  cause  of  making  her 
feel  disgraced,  or  of  dragging  her  down  from  among  the 
people  where  she  belongs." 

The  Duchess  gave  no  visible  sign  of  emotion,  but  her 
ancient  heart-strings  were  set  vibrating  by  that  tense, 
low-pitched  voice.  She  had  a  momentary  impulse  to  tell 
him  the  truth.  But  just  then  the  Duchess  was  a  confusion 
of  many  conflicting  impulses,  and  the  balance  of  their 
strength  was  for  the  moment  against  telling.  So  she  said 
nothing. 

Their  talk  drifted  back  to  commonplaces,  and  presently 
Joe  Ellison  went  away.  The  Duchess  sat  motionless 
at  her  desk,  again  thinking  —  thinking  —  thinking;  and 
when  Joe  Ellison  was  back  in  his  gardener's  cottage  at 
Cedar  Crest  and  was  happily  asleep,  she  still  sat  where 
he  had  left  her.  During  her  generations  of  looking  upon 
life  from  the  inside,  she  had  seen  the  truth  of  many 
strange  situations  of  which  the  world  had  learned  only 
the  wildest  rumors  or  the  most  respectable  versions;  but 
during  the  long  night  hours,  perhaps  because  the  affair 
touched  her  so  closely,  this  seemed  to  her  the  strangest 
situation  she  had  ever  known.  A  father  believing  with 
the  firm  belief  of  established  certainty  that  his  daughter 
had  been  brought  up  free  from  all  taint  of  his  own  life, 
carefully  bred  among  the  best  of  people.  In  reality  the 
girl  brought  up  in  a  criminal  atmosphere,  with  criminal 
ideas  implanted  in  her  as  normal  ideas,  and  carefully 
trained  in  criminal  ways  and  ambitions.  And  neither 
father  nor  daughter  having  a  guess  of  the  truth. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        163 

Indeed  it  was  a  strange  situation !  A  situation  charged 
with  all  kinds  of  unforeseeable  results. 

The  Duchess  now  understood  the  unfatherly  disregard 
Old  Jimmie  had  shown  for  the  ordinary  welfare  of 
Maggie.  Not  being  her  father,  he  had  not  cared.  Super- 
ficially, at  least,  Jimmie  Carlisle  must  have  been  a  much 
more  plausible  individual  twenty  years  earlier,  to  have 
won  the  implicit  trust  of  Joe  Ellison  and  to  have  become 
his  foremost  friend.  She  understood  one  reason  why  Old 
Jimmie  had  always  boarded  Maggie  in  the  cheapest  and 
lowest  places;  his  hidden  cupidity  had  thereby  been 
pocketing  about  a  thousand  dollars  a  year  of  trust  money 
for  over  sixteen  years. 

But  there  was  one  queer  problem  here  to  which  the 
Duchess  could  not  at  this  time  see  the  answer.  If  Jimmie 
Carlisle  had  wished  to  gratify  his  cupidity  and  double- 
cross  his  friend,  why  had  he  not  at  the  very  start  placed 
Maggie  in  an  orphanage  where  she  would  have  been 
neither  charge  nor  cost  to  him,  and  thus  have  had  the  use 
of  every  penny  of  the  trust  fund?  Why  had  he  chosen  to 
keep  her  by  him,  and  train  her  carefully  to  be  exactly 
what  her  father  had  most  wished  her  not  to  be?  There 
must  have  been  some  motive  in  the  furtive,  tortuous 
mind  of  Old  Jimmie,  that  now  would  perhaps  forever 
remain  a  mystery. 

Of  course  she  saw,  or  thought  she  saw,  the  reason  for 
the  report  of  Old  Jimmie's  death  to  Joe  Ellison.  That 
report  had  been  sent  to  escape  an  accounting. 

As  she  sat  through  the  night  hours  the  Duchess  for  the 
first  time  felt  warmth  creep  over  her  for  Maggie.  She 
saw  Maggie  in  the  light  of  a  victim.  If  Maggie  had  been 
brought  up  as  her  father  had  planned,  she  might  now  be 
much  the  girl  her  father  dreamed  her.  But  Old  Jimmie 
had  entered  the  scheme  of  things.  Yes,  the  audacious, 
willful,  confident  Maggie,  bent  on  conquering  the  world 
in  the  way  Old  Jimmie  and  later  Barney  Palmer  had 


164        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

taught  her,  was  really  just  a  poor  misguided  victim  who 
should  have  had  a  far  different  fate. 

And  now  the  Duchess  came  to  one  of  the  greatest 
problems  of  her  life.  What  should  she  do?  Considering 
the  facts  that  Joe  Ellison  wished  the  life  of  a  recluse  and 
desired  to  avoid  all  talk  of  the  old  days,  the  chances  were 
that  he  would  never  happen  upon  the  real  state  of  af- 
fairs. Only  she  and  Old  Jimmie  knew  the  essentials  of  the 
situation  —  and  very  likely  Jimmie  did  not  yet  know 
that  the  friend  who  had  once  trusted  him  was  now  a  free 
man.  She  felt  as  though  she  held  in  her  hands  the  strings 
of  destiny.  Should  she  tell  the  truth? 

She  pondered  long.  All  her  considerations  were  given 
weight  according  to  what  she  saw  as  their  possible  effect 
upon  Larry;  for  Larry  was  the  one  person  left  whom  she 
loved,  and  on  him  were  fixed  the  aspirations  of  these  her 
final  years.  Therefore  her  thoughts  and  arguments  were 
myopic,  almost  necessarily  specious.  She  wanted  to  see 
justice  done,  of  course.  But  most  of  all  she  wanted  what 
was  best  for  Larry.  If  she  told  the  truth,  it  might  result 
in  some  kind  of  temporary  breakdown  in  Maggie's  atti- 
tude which  would  bring  her  and  Larry  together.  That 
would  be  disastrous.  If  not  disastrous  at  once,  certainly 
in  the  end.  Maggie  was  a  victim,  and  undoubtedly  de- 
served sympathy.  But  others  should  not  be  sacrificed 
merely  because  Maggie  had  suffered  an  injury.  She  had 
been  too  long  under  the  tutelage  of  Old  Jimmie,  and  his 
teachings  were  now  too  thoroughly  the  fiber  of  her  very 
being,  for  her  to  alter  permanently.  She  might  change 
temporarily  under  the  urge  of  an  emotional  revelation; 
but  she  would  surely  revert  to  her  present  self.  There  was 
no  doubt  of  that. 

And  the  Duchess  gave  weight  to  other  considerations  — 
all  human,  yet  all  in  some  measure  specious.  Joe  Ellison 
was  happy  in  his  dream,  and  would  be  happy  in  it  all 
the  rest  of  his  life.  Why  tell  the  truth  and  destroy  his 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        165 

precious  illusion?  —  especially  when  there  was  no  chance 
to  change  Maggie? 

And  further,  she  recalled  the  terrific  temper  that  had 
lived  within  the  composed  demeanor  of  Joe  Ellison.  The 
fires  of  that  temper  could  not  yet  be  all  burned  out.  If 
she  told  the  truth,  told  that  Jimmie  Carlisle  was  still 
alive,  that  might  be  just  touching  the  trigger  of  a  dev- 
astating tragedy — might  be  disaster  for  all.  What  would 
be  the  use  when  no  one  would  have  been  benefited? 

And  so,  in  the  wisdom  of  her  old  head  and  the  en- 
tanglements of  her  old  heart,  the  Duchess  decided  she 
would  never  tell.  And  that  loving,  human  decision  she 
was  to  cling  to  through  the  stress  of  times  to  come. 

But  even  while  she  was  thus  deciding  upon  a  measure 
to  checkmate  them  both,  Larry  was  pacing  his  room  at 
Cedar  Crest,  at  last  excitedly  evolving  the  elusive  plan 
which  was  to  bring  Maggie  to  her  senses  and  also  to  him ; 
and  Maggie,  all  unconscious  of  this  new  element  which 
had  entered  as  a  potential  factor  in  her  existence,  all 
unconscious  of  how  far  she  had  been  guided  from  the 
course  which  had  been  charted  for  her,  was  lying  awake 
at  the  Grantham  after  a  late  party  at  which  Dick  Sher- 
wood had  been  her  escort,  and  was  exulting  pridefully 
over  the  seemingly  near  consummation  of  the  plan  that 
was  to  show  Larry  Brainard  how  wrong  he  was  and  that 
was  to  establish  her  as  the  cleverest  woman  in  her  line  — 
better  even  than  Barney  or  Old  Jimmie  believed  her. 

And  thus  separate  wills  each  strove  to  direct  their  own 
lives  and  other  lives  according  to  their  own  separate 
plans;  little  thinking  to  what  extent  they  were  all  en- 
tangled in  a  common  destiny;  and  thinking  not  at  all  of 
the  further  seed  that  was  being  sown  for  the  harvest-time 
of  the  whirlwind. 


166        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AFTER  Larry's  many  days  and  nights  of  futile  searching 
of  his  brain  for  a  plan  that  would  accord  with  his  funda- 
mental idea  for  awakening  the  unguessed  other  self  of 
Maggie,  the  plan,  which  finally  came  to  him  complete  in 
all  its  details  in  a  single  moment,  was  so  simple  and  ob- 
vious that  he  marveled  it  could  have  been  plainly  before 
his  eyes  all  this  while  without  his  ever  seeing  it.  Of 
course  the  plan  was  dangerous  and  of  doubtful  issue.  It 
had  to  be  so,  because  it  involved  the  reactions  of  strong- 
tempered  persons  as  yet  unacquainted  who  would  have  no 
foreknowledge  of  the  design  behind  their  new  relation- 
ship; and  because  its  success  or  failure,  which  might  also 
mean  his  own  complete  failure,  the  complete  loss  of  all 
he  had  thus  far  gained,  depended  largely  upon  the  twist 
of  events  which  he  could  not  foresee  and  therefore  could 
not  guide. 

Briefly,  his  plan  was  so  to  manage  as  to  have  Maggie 
received  in  the  Sherwood  household  as  a  guest,  to  have 
her  receive  the  frank,  unquestioning  hospitality  (and 
perhaps  friendship)  of  such  a  gracious,  highly  placed,  un- 
pretentious woman  as  Miss  Sherwood,  so  distinctly  a 
native  of,  and  not  an  immigrant  to,  the  great  world.  To 
be  received  as  a  friend  by  those  against  whom  she  plotted, 
to  have  the  generous,  unsuspecting  friendship  of  Miss 
Sherwood  —  if  anything  just  then  had  a  chance  to  open 
the  blinded  Maggie's  eyes  to  the  evil  and  error  of  what 
she  was  engaged  upon,  if  anything  had  a  chance  to  appeal 
to  the  finer  things  he  believed  to  exist  unrecognized  or 
suppressed  in  Maggie,  this  was  that  thing. 

And  best  part  of  this  plan,  its  effect  would  be  only 
within  Maggie's  self.  No  one  need  know  that  anything 
had  happened.  There  would  be  no  exposure,  no  humili- 
ation. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        167 

Of  course  there  was  the  great  question  of  how  to  get 
Miss  Sherwood  to  invite  Maggie;  and  whether  indeed 
Miss  Sherwood  would  invite  her  at  all.  And  there  was  the 
further  question,  the  invitation  being  sent,  of  whether 
Maggie  would  accept. 

Larry  decided  to  manipulate  his  design  through  Dick 
Sherwood.  Late  that  afternoon,  when  Dick,  just  re- 
turned from  the  city,  dropped  into,  as  was  his  before- 
dinner  custom,  the  office-study  which  had  been  set  aside 
for  Larry's  use,  Larry,  after  an  adroit  approach  to  his 
subject,  continued: 

"And  since  I've  been  wished  on  you  as  a  sort  of 
step-uncle,  there 's  something  I  'd  like  to  suggest  —  if 
I  don't  seem  to  be  fairly  jimmying  my  way  into  your 
affairs." 

"  Door's  unlocked  and  wide  open,  Captain," said  Dick. 
"Walk  right  in  and  take  the  best  chair." 

"Thanks.  Remember  telling  me  about  a  young  woman 
you  recently  met?  A  Miss  Maggie  —  Maggie  —  " 

"Miss  Cameron,"  Dick  prompted.  "Of  course  I  re- 
member." 

"And  remember  your  telling  me  that  this  time  it's  the 
real  thing?" 

"And  it  is  the  real  thing!" 

"You  haven't  —  excuse  me  —  asked  her  to  marry 
you  yet?" 

"No.  I've  been  trying  to  get  up  my  nerve." 

"Here's  where  you've  got  to  excuse  me  once  more, 
Dick  —  it 's  not  my  business  to  tell  you  what  should  be 
your  relations  with  your  family  —  but  have  you  told 
your  sister?" 

"No."  Dick  hesitated.  "I  suppose  I  should.  But  I 
hadn't  thought  of  it  —  yet.  You  see  —  "  Again  Dick 
hesitated. 

"Yes?"  prompted  Larry. 

"There  are  her  relatives  —  that  cousin  and  uncle.    I 


168        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

guess  it  must  have  been  my  thinking  of  them  that  pre- 
vented my  thinking  of  what  you  suggest." 

"But  you  told  me  they  hadn't  interfered  much,  and 
never  would  interfere."  Larry  gently  pressed  his  point: 
"And  look  at  it  from  Miss  Cameron's  angle  of  view.  If 
it 's  the  real  thing,  and  you  're  behaving  that  way  toward 
her,  has  n't  she  good  grounds  for  thinking  it  strange  that 
you  have  n't  introduced  her  to  your  family?" 

"By  George,  you're  right,  Captain!  I'll  see  to  that  at 
once." 

"Of  course,  Dick,"  Larry  went  on,  carefully  feeling 
his  way,  "you  know  much  better  than  I  the  proper  way 
to  do  such  things  —  but  don't  you  think  it  would  be 
rather  nice,  when  you  tell  your  sister,  that  you  suggest  to 
her  that  she  invite  Miss  Cameron  out  here  for  a  little 
visit?  If  they  are  to  meet,  I  know  Miss  Cameron,  or  any 
girl,  would  take  it  as  more  of  a  tribute  to  be  received  in 
your  own  home  than  merely  to  meet  in  a  big  common- 
place hotel." 

"  Right  again,  Captain !  I  'd  tell  Isabel  to-night,  and  ask 
her  to  send  the  invitation  —  only  I  'm  booked  to  scoot 
right  back  to  the  city  for  a  little  party  as  soon  as  I  get 
some  things  together,  and  I  '11  stay  overnight  in  the  apart- 
ment. But  I  '11  attend  to  the  thing  to-morrow  night,  sure." 

"May  I  ask  just  one  favor  in  the  meantime?" 

"One  favor?  A  dozen,  Captain!" 

"I'll  take  the  other  eleven  later.  Just  now  I  only  ask, 
since  you  haven't  proposed,  that  you  won't  —  er  — 
commit  yourself  any  further,  in  any  way,  with  Miss 
Cameron  until  after  you've  told  your  sister  and  until 
after  Miss  Cameron  has  been  out  here." 

"Oh,  I  say  now!"  protested  Dick. 

"I  am  merely  suggesting  that  affairs  remain  in  statu 
quo  until  after  Miss  Cameron's  visit  with  your  sister. 
That's  not  asking  much  of  you,  Dick  —  nor  asking  it  for 
a  very  long  time." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        169 

"Oh,  of  course  I'll  do  it,  Captain,"  grumbled  Dick 
affectionately.  "You've  got  me  where  I'll  do  almost 
anything  you  want  me  to  do." 

But  Dick  did  not  speak  to  his  sister  the  following 
evening.  The  next  morning  news  came  to  Miss  Sherwood 
of  a  friend's  illness,  and  she  and  her  novel-reading  aunt 
hurried  off  at  once  on  what  was  to  prove  to  be  a  week's 
absence.  But  this  delay  in  his  plan  did  not  worry  Larry 
as  greatly  as  it  otherwise  would  have  done,  for  Dick  re- 
peated his  promise  to  hold  a  stiff  rein  upon  himself  until 
after  he  should  have  spoken  to  his  sister.  And  Larry  be- 
lieved he  could  rely  upon  Dick's  pledged  word. 

During  this  week  of  waiting  and  necessary  inactivity 
Larry  concentrated  upon  another  phase  of  his  many- 
sided  plan  —  to  make  of  himself  a  business  success.  As 
has  been  said,  he  saw  his  chance  of  this  in  the  handling 
of  Miss  Sherwood's  affairs;  and  saw  it  particularly  in  an 
idea  that  had  begun  to  grow  upon  him  since  he  became 
aware,  through  statements  and  letters  from  the  agents 
turned  over  to  him,  of  the  extent  of  the  Sherwood  real- 
estate  holdings  and  since  he  had  got  some  glimmering  of 
their  condition.  His  previous  venturings  about  the  city 
had  engendered  in  him  a  sense  of  moderate  security;  so 
he  now  began  to  make  flying  trips  into  New  York  in  the 
smart  roadster  Miss  Sherwood  had  placed  at  his  dis- 
posal. 

On  each  trip  Larry  made  swift  visits  to  several  of  the 
properties,  until  finally  he  had  covered  the  entire  list 
Miss  Sherwood  had  furnished  him  through  the  agents. 
His  survey  corroborated  his  surmise.  The  property, 
mostly  neglected  apartment  and  tenement  houses,  was 
in  an  almost  equally  bad  way  whether  one  regarded 
it  from  the  standpoint  of  sanitation,  comfort,  or  cold 
financial  returns.  The  fault  for  this  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  Sherwoods  had  left  the  property  entirely  in  the 
care  of  the  agents,  and  the  agents,  being  old,  old-fashioned, 


170        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

and  weary  of  business  to  the  point  of  being  almost  ready 
to  retire,  had  left  the  property  to  itself. 

Prompted  by  these  bad  conditions,  and  to  some  degree 
by  the  then  critical  housing  famine,  with  its  records  of 
some  thousands  of  families  having  no  place  at  all  to  go 
and  some  thousands  of  families  being  compelled  for  the 
sake  of  mere  shelter  to  pay  two  and  three  times  what 
they  could  afford  for  a  few  poor  rooms,  and  with  its 
records  of  profiteering  landlords,  Larry  began  to  make 
notes  for  a  plan  which  he  intended  later  to  elaborate  — 
a  plan  which  he  tentatively  entitled:  "Suggestions  for 
the  Development  of  Sherwood  Real-Estate  Holdings." 
Larry,  knowing  from  the  stubs  of  Miss  Sherwood's 
checkbook  what  would  be  likely  to  please  her,  gave  as 
much  consideration  to  Service  as  to  Profit.  The  basis  of 
his  growing  plan  was  good  apartments  at  fair  rentals. 
That  he  saw  as  the  greatest  of  public  services  in  the 
present  crisis.  But  the  return  upon  the  investment  had 
to  be  a  reasonable  one.  Larry  did  not  believe  in  Charity, 
except  for  extreme  cases.  He  believed,  and  his  belief  had 
grown  out  of  a  wide  experience  with  many  kinds  of  peo- 
ple, that  Charity,  of  course  to  a  smaller  extent,  was  as 
definitely  a  source  of  social  evil  as  the  then  much-talked- 
of  Profiteering. 

In  the  meantime  he  was  seeing  his  old  friend,  Joe 
Ellison,  every  day;  perhaps  smoking  with  Ellison  in  his 
cottage  after  he  had  finished  his  day's  work  among  the 
roses,  perhaps  walking  along  the  bluff  which  hung  above 
the  Sound,  whose  cool,  clear  waters  splashed  with  vaca- 
tion laziness  upon  the  shingle.  The  two  men  rarely  spoke, 
and  never  of  the  past.  Larry  was  well  acquainted  with, 
and  understood,  the  older  man's  deep-rooted  wish  to 
avoid  all  talk  bearing  upon  deeds  and  associates  of  other 
days;  that  was  a  part  of  his  life  and  a  phase  of  existence 
that  Joe  Ellison  was  trying  to  forget,  and  Larry  by  his 
silence  deferred  to  his  friend's  desire. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        171 

On  the  day  after  Joe  Ellison's  visit  to  the  Duchess, 
Larry  had  received  a  note  from  his  grandmother,  ad- 
dressed, of  course,  to  "Mr.  Brandon."  There  was  no 
danger  in  her  writing  Larry  if  she  took  adequate  pre- 
cautions :  mail  addressed  to  Cedar  Crest  was  not  bothered 
by  postal  and  police  officials ;  it  was  only  mail  which  came 
to  the  house  of  the  Duchess  which  received  the  attention 
of  these  gentlemen. 

The  note  was  one  which  the  Duchess,  after  that  night 
of  thought  which  had  so  shaken  her  old  heart,  had  de- 
cided to  be  a  necessity  if  her  plan  of  never  telling  of  her 
discovery  of  Maggie's  real  paternity  were  to  be  a  success. 
The  major  portion  of  her  note  dwelt  upon  a  generality 
with  which  Larry  already  was  acquainted:  Joe's  desire 
to  keep  clear  of  all  talk  touching  upon  the  deeds  and  the 
people  of  his  past.  And  then  in  a  careless-seeming  last 
sentence  the  Duchess  packed  the  carefully  calculated 
substance  of  her  entire  note: 

"It  may  not  be  very  important  —  but  particularly 
avoid  ever  mentioning  the  mere  name  of  Jimmie  Carlisle. 
They  used  to  know  each  other,  and  their  acquaintance  is 
about  the  bitterest  thing  Joe  Ellison  has  to  remember." 

Of  course  he'd  never  mention  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle, 
Larry  said  to  himself  as  he  destroyed  the  note  —  never 
guessing,  in  making  this  natural  response  to  what  seemed 
a  most  natural  request,  that  he  had  become  an  uncon- 
scious partner  in  the  plan  of  the  warm-hearted,  scheming 
Duchess. 

There  was  one  detail  of  Joe  Ellison's  behavior  which 
aroused  Larry's  mild  curiosity.  Directly  beneath  one  of 
Joe's  gardens,  hardly  a  hundred  yards  away,  was  a  bit 
of  beach  and  a  pavilion  which  were  used  in  common  by 
the  families  from  the  surrounding  estates.  The  girls  and 
younger  women  were  just  home  from  schools  and  colleges, 
and  at  high  tide  were  always  on  the  beach.  At  this  pe- 
riod, whenever  he  was  at  Cedar  Crest,  Larry  saw  Joe,  his 


172        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

work  apparently  forgotten,  gazing  fixedly  down  upon  the 
young  figures  splashing  about  the  water  in  their  bright 
bathing-suits  or  lounging  about  the  pavilion  in  their 
smart  summer  frocks. 

This  interest  made  Larry  wonder,  though  to  be  sure 
not  very  seriously.  For  he  had  never  a  guess  of  how  deep 
Joe's  interest  was.  He  did  not  know,  could  not  know, 
that  that  tall,  fixed  figure,  with  its  one  absorbing  idea, 
was  thinking  of  his  daughter.  He  could  not  know  that 
Joe  Ellison,  emotionally  elated  and  with  a  hungry,  self- 
denying  affection  that  reached  out  toward  them  all,  was 
seeing  his  daughter  as  just  such  a  girl  as  one  of  these  — 
simple,  wholesome,  well-brought-up.  He  could  not  know 
that  Joe,  in  a  way,  perceived  his  daughter  in  every  nice 
young  woman  he  saw. 

Toward  evening  of  the  seventh  day  of  her  visit,  Miss 
Sherwood  returned.  Larry  was  on  the  piazza  when  the 
car  bearing  her  swept  into  the  white-graveled  curve  of 
the  drive.  The  car  was  a  handsome,  powerful  roadster. 
Larry  had  started  out  to  be  of  such  assistance  as  he  could, 
when  the  figure  at  the  wheel,  a  man,  sprang  from  the  car 
and  helped  Miss  Sherwood  alight.  Larry  saw  that  the 
man  was  Hunt  —  such  a  different  Hunt !  —  and  he  had 
begun  a  quick  retreat  when  Hunt's  voice  called  after  him : 

"You  there  —  wait  a  minute!  I  want  a  little  chin- 
chin  with  you." 

Larry  halted.  He  could  not  help  overhearing  the  few 
words  that  passed  between  Hunt  and  Miss  Sherwood. 

"Thank  you  ever  so  much,"  she  said  in  her  even 
voice.  "Then  you're  coming?" 

"I  promised,  did  n't  I?" 

"Then  good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

They  shook  hands  friendly  enough,  but  rather  formally, 
and  Miss  Sherwood  turned  to  the  house.  Hunt  called  to 
Larry: 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        173 

"Come  here,  son." 

Larry  crossed  to  the  big  painter  who  was  standing  be- 
side the  power-bulged  hood  of  his  low-swung  car. 

"  Happened  to  drop  in  where  she  was  —  brought  her 
home  —  aunt  following  in  that  hearse  with  its  five-foot 
cushions  she  always  rides  in,"  Hunt  explained.  And  then : 
"Well,  I  suppose  you've  got  to  give  me  the  once-over. 
Hurry  up,  and  get  it  done  with." 

Larry  obeyed.  Hunt's  wild  hair  had  been  smartly 
barbered,  he  had  on  a  swagger  dust-coat,  and  beneath  it 
flannels  of  the  smartest  cut.  Further,  he  bore  himself  as 
if  smart  clothes  and  smart  cars  had  always  been  items  of 
his  equipment. 

"Well,  young  fellow, spill  it,"  he  commanded.  "What 
do  I  look  like?" 

"Like  Solomon  in  all  his  glory.  No,  more  like  the  he- 
dressmaker  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba." 

"I'm  going  to  run  you  up  every  telephone  post  we 
come  to  for  that  insult!  Hop  in,  son,  and  we'll  take  a 
little  voyage  around  the  earth  in  eighty  seconds." 

Larry  got  in.  Once  out  of  the  drive  the  car  leaped 
away  as  though  intent  upon  keeping  to  Hunt's  time-table. 
But  after  a  mile  or  two  Hunt  quieted  the  roaring  monster 
to  a  conversational  pace. 

"Get  one  of  the  invitations  to  my  show?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  Several  days  ago.  That  dealer  certainly  got  it 
up  in  great  shape." 

"  You  must  have  hypnotized  Graham.  That  old  paint 
pirate  is  giving  the  engine  all  the  gas  she  '11  stand  —  and 
believe  me,  he's  sure  getting  up  a  lot  of  speed."  Hunt 
grinned.  "That  private  pre-exhibition  show  you  sug- 
gested is  proving  the  best  publicity  idea  Graham  ever 
had  in  his  musty  old  shop.  Everywhere  I  go,  people  are 
talking  about  the  darned  thing.  Every  man,  woman  and 
child,  also  unmarried  females  of  both  sexes,  who  got  in- 
vitations are  coming  —  and  those  who  didn't  get  'em 


174        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

are  trying  to  bribe  the  traffic  cop  at  Forty-Second  Street 
to  let  'em  in." 

Hunt  paused  for  a  chuckle.  "And  I'm  having  the 
time  of  my  young  life  with  the  people  who  always  thought 
I  could  n't  paint,  and  who  are  now  trying  to  sidle  up  to 
me  on  the  suspicion  that  possibly  after  all  I  can  paint. 
What 's  got  that  bunch  buffaloed  is  the  fact  that  Graham 
has  let  it  leak  out  that  I  'm  likely  to  make  bales  of  money 
from  my  painting.  The  idea  of  any  one  making  money 
out  of  painting,  that's  too  much  for  their  heads.  Oh, 
this  is  the  life,  Larry!" 

Larry  started  to  congratulate  him,  but  was  instantly 
interrupted  with : 

" I  admit  I'm  a  painter,  and  always  will  admit  it.  But 
this  present  thing  is  all  your  doing.  We  '11  try  to  square 
things  sometime.  But  I  did  n't  ask  you  to  come  along 
to  hear  verbostical  acrobatics  about  myself.  I  asked  you 
to  learn  if  you'd  worked  out  your  plan  yet  regarding 
Maggie?" 

"Yes."  And  Larry  proceeded  to  give  the  details  of  his 
design. 

"Regular  psychological  stuff!"  exclaimed  Hunt.  And 
then:  "Say,  you're  some  stage-manager!  Or  rather 
some  playwright!  Playwrights  that  know  tell  me  it's  one 
of  their  most  difficult  tricks  —  to  get  all  their  leading 
characters  on  the  stage  at  the  same  time.  And  here 
you've  got  it  all  fixed  to  bring  on  Miss  Sherwood,  Dick, 
Maggie,  yourself,  and  the  all-important  me  —  for  don't 
forget  I  shall  be  slipping  out  to  Cedar  Crest  occasion- 
ally." 

"As  for  myself,"  remarked  Larry,  "I  shall  remain  very 
much  behind  the  scenes.  Maggie '11  never  see  me." 

"Well,  here's  hoping  you're  good  enough  playwright 
to  manage  your  characters  so  they  won't  run  away  from 
you  and  mix  up  an  ending  you  never  dreamed  of!" 

The  car  paused  again  in  the  drive  and  Larry  got  out. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        175 

"I  say,  Larry,"  Hunt  whispered  eagerly,  "who's  that 
tall,  white-haired  man  working  over  there  among  the 
roses?" 

"Joe  Ellison.  He's  that  man  I  told  you  about  my 
getting  to  know  in  Sing  Sing.  Remember?" 

"Oh,  yes !  The  crook  who  was  having  his  baby  brought 
up  to  be  a  real  person.  Say,  he 's  a  sure-enough  character ! 
Lordy,  but  I  'd  love  to  paint  that  face !  .  .  .  So-long,  son." 

The  car  swung  around  the  drive  and  roared  away. 
Larry  mounted  to  the  piazza.  Dick  was  waiting  for  him, 
and  excitedly  drew  him  down  to  one  corner  that  crimson 
ramblers  had  woven  into  a  nook  for  confidences. 

"Captain,  old  scout,"  he  said  in  a  low,  happy  voice, 
"I've  just  told  sis.  Put  the  whole  proposition  up  to  her, 
just  as  you  told  me.  She  took  it  like  a  regular  fellow. 
Your  whole  idea  was  one  hundred  per  cent  right.  Sis  is 
inside  now  getting  off  that  invitation  to  Miss  Cameron, 
asking  her  to  come  out  day  after  to-morrow." 

Larry  involuntarily  caught  the  veranda  railing.  "I 
hope  it  works  out  —  for  the  best,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  it  will  —  no  doubt  of  it!"  cried  the  exultant  Dick. 
"And,  Captain,  if  it  does,  it'll  be  all  your  doing!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WHEN  Miss  Sherwood's  invitation  reached  Maggie,  Bar- 
ney and  Old  Jimmie  were  with  her.  The  pair  had  growled 
a  lot,  though  not  directly  at  Maggie,  at  the  seeming  lack 
of  progress  Maggie  had  made  during  the  past  week.  Bar- 
ney was  a  firm  enough  believer  in  his  rogue's  creed  of  first 
getting  your  fish  securely  hooked;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  was  the  danger,  if  the  hooked  fish  be  allowed  to 
remain  too  long  in  the  water,  that  it  would  disastrously 
shake  itself  free  of  the  barb  and  swim  away.  That  was 
what  Barney  was  afraid  had  been  happening  with  Dick 


176       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Sherwood.  Therefore  he  was  thinking  of  returning  to  his 
abandoned  scheme  of  selling  stock  to  Dick.  He  might  get 
Dick's  money  in  that  way,  though  of  course  not  so  much 
money,  and  of  course  not  so  safely. 

And  another  item  which  for  some  time  had  not  been 
pleasing  Barney  was  that  Larry  Brainard  had  not  yet 
been  finally  taken  care  of,  either  by  the  police  or  by  that 
unofficial  force  to  which  he  had  given  orders.  So  he  had 
good  reason  for  permitting  himself  the  relaxation  of 
scowling  when  he  was  not  on  public  exhibition. 

But  when  Maggie,  after  reading  the  invitation,  tossed 
it,  together  with  a  note  from  Dick,  across  to  Barney  with- 
out comment,  the  color  of  his  entire  world  changed  for 
that  favorite  son  of  Broadway.  The  surly  gloom  of  the 
end  of  a  profitless  enterprise  became  magically  an  aurora 
borealis  of  superior  hopes:  —  no,  something  infinitely 
more  substantial  than  any  heaven-painting  flare  of  iri- 
descent colors. 

"Maggie,  it's  the  real  thing!  At  last!"  he  cried. 
[    "What  is  it?"  asked  Old  Jimmie. 

Barney  gave  him  the  letter.  Jimmie  read  it  through, 
then  handed  it  back,  slowly  shaking  his  head. 

"I  don't  see  nothing  to  get  excited  about,"  said  the 
ever-doubtful,  ever-hesitant  Jimmie.  "It's  only  an  in- 
vitation." 

"Aw,  hell!"  ejaculated  the  exasperated  Barney  in  dis- 
gust. "If  some  one  handed  you  a  government  bond  all 
you  could  see  would  be  a  cigar  coupon !  That  invitation, 
together  with  this  note  from  Dick  Sherwood  saying  he  '11 
call  and  take  Maggie  out,  means  that  the  fish  is  all  ready 
to  be  landed.  Try  to  come  back  to  life,  Jimmie.  If  you 
knew  anything  at  all  about  big-league  society,  you'd 
know  that  sending  invitations  to  meet  the  family — that 's 
the  way  these  swells  do  things  when  they're  all  set  to 
do  business.  We're  all  ready  for  the  killing  —  the  big 
clean-up!" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        177 

He  turned  to  Maggie.  "Great  stuff,  Maggie.  I  knew 
you  could  put  it  over.  Of  course  you're  going?" 

"Of  course,"  replied  Maggie  with  a  composure  which 
was  wholly  of  her  manner. 

A  sudden  doubt  came  out  of  this  glory  to  becloud 
Barney's  master  mind.  "I  don't  know,"  he  said  slowly. 
"It's  one  proposition  to  make  one  of  these  men  swells 
believe  that  a  woman  is  the  real  thing.  And  it 's  another 
proposition  to  put  it  over  on  one  of  these  women  swells. 
They've  got  eyes  for  every  little  detail,  and  they  know 
the  difference  between  the  genuine  article  and  an  imita- 
tion. I've  heard  a  lot  about  this  Miss  Sherwood;  they 
say  she 's  one  of  the  cleverest  of  the  swells.  Think  you  can 
walk  into  her  house  and  put  it  over  on  her,  Maggie?" 

"Of  course  —  why  not?"  answered  Maggie,  again 
with  that  composure  which  was  prompted  by  her  pride's 
desire  to  make  Barney,  and  every  one  else,  believe  her 
equal  to  any  situation. 

Barney's  animation  returned.  "All  right.  If  you  think 
you  can  swing  it,  you  can  swing  it,  and  the  job 's  the  same 
as  finished  and  we're  made!" 

Left  to  herself,  and  the  imposing  propriety  and  mag- 
nificent stupidity  of  Miss  Grierson,  Maggie  made  no  at- 
tempt to  keep  up  her  appearance  of  confidence.  All  her 
thoughts  were  upon  this  opportunity  which  insisted  upon 
looking  to  her  like  a  menace.  She  tried  to  whip  her  self- 
confidence,  of  which  she  was  so  proud,  into  a  condition 
of  constant  regnancy.  But  the  plain  fact  was  that  Mag- 
gie, the  misguided  child  of  a  stolen  birthright,  whose  soar- 
ing spirit  was  striving  so  hard  to  live  up  to  the  traditions 
and  conventions  of  cynicism,  whose  young  ambition  it 
was  to  outshine  and  surpass  all  possible  competitors  in 
this  world  in  which  she  had  been  placed,  who  in  her  pride 
believed  she  knew  so  much  of  life  —  the  plain  fact  was 
that  Maggie  was  in  a  state  bordering  on  funk. 

This  invitation  from  Miss  Sherwood  was  an  ordeal  she 


178        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

had  never  counted  on.  She  had  watched  the  fine  ladies 
at  the  millinery  shop  and  while  selling  cigarettes  at  the 
Ritzmore,  when  she  had  been  modeling  her  manners, 
and  had  believed  herself  just  as  fine  a  lady  as  they.  But 
that  had  been  in  the  abstract.  Now  she  was  face  to  face 
with  a  situation  that  was  painfully  concrete  —  a  real 
test:  she  had  to  place  herself  into  close  contrast  with, 
and  under  the  close  observation  of,  a  real  lady,  and  in  that 
lady's  own  home.  And  in  all  her  life  she  had  not  once 
been  in  a  fine  home !  In  fine  hotels,  yes  —  but  fine  hotels 
were  the  common  refuge  of  butcher,  baker,  floor-walker, 
thief,  swell,  and  each  had  approximately  the  same  atten- 
tion; and  all  she  now  felt  she  had  really  learned  were  a  few 
such  matters  as  the  use  of  table  silver  and  finger  bowls. 

It  came  to  her  that  Barney,  in  his  moment  of  doubt, 
had  spoken  more  soundly  than  he  had  imagined  when  he 
had  said  that  it  was  easier  to  fool  a  man  about  a  woman 
than  it  was  to  fool  a  woman.  How  tragically  true  that 
was!  While  trying  to  learn  to  be  a  lady  by  working  in 
smart  shops,  she  had  learned  that  the  occasional  man 
who  had  ventured  in  after  woman's  gear  was  hopelessly 
ignorant  and  bought  whatever  was  skillfully  thrust  upon 
him,  but  that  it  was  impossible  to  slip  an  inferior  or  un- 
suitable or  out-dated  article  over  on  the  woman  who  really 
knew. 

And  Miss  Sherwood  was  the  kind  of  woman  who  really 
knew !  Who  knew  everything.  Could  she  possibly,  pos- 
sibly pass  herself  off  on  Miss  Sherwood  as  the  genuine 
article?  .  .  . 

Could  Larry  have  foreseen  the  very  real  misery  —  for 
any  doubt  of  her  own  qualities,  any  fear  of  her  ability  to 
carry  herself  well  in  any  situation,  are  among  the  most 
acute  of  a  proud  woman's  miseries  —  which  for  some 
twenty-four  hours  was  brought  upon  Maggie  by  the  well- 
meant  intrigue  of  which  he  was  pulling  the  hidden  strings, 
he  might,  because  of  his  love  for  Maggie,  have  discarded 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        179 

his  design  even  while  he  was  creating  it,  and  have  sought 
a  measure  pregnant  with  less  distress.  But  perhaps  it  was 
just  as  well  that  Larry  did  not  know.  Perhaps,  even,  it 
was  just  as  well  that  he  did  not  know  what  his  grand- 
mother knew. 

Maggie's  pride  would  not  let  her  evade  the  risk;  and  her 
instinct  for  self-preservation  dictated  that  she  should  re- 
duce the  risk  to  its  minimum.  So  she  wrote  her  accept- 
ance—  Miss  Grierson  attended  to  the  phrasing  of  her 
note  —  but  expressed  her  regret  that  she  would  be  able 
to  come  only  for  the  tea-hour.  Drinking  tea  must  be 
much  the  same,  reasoned  Maggie,  whether  it  be  drunk  in 
a  smart  hotel  or  in  a  smart  country  home. 

Maggie's  native  shrewdness  suggested  her  simplest 
summer  gown  as  likely  to  have  committed  the  fewest 
errors,  and  the  invaluable  stupidity  of  Miss  Grierson 
aided  her  toward  correctness  if  not  originality.  When 
Dick  came  he  was  delighted  with  her  appearance.  On 
the  way  out  he  was  ebulliently  excited  in  his  talk.  Maggie 
averaged  a  fair  degree  of  sensibility  in  her  responses, 
though  only  her  ears  heard  him.  She  was  far  more  excited 
than  he,  and  every  moment  her  excitement  mounted,  for 
every  moment  she  was  speeding  nearer  the  greatest  ordeal 
of  her  life. 

When  at  length  they  curved  through  the  lawns  of  satin 
smoothness  and  Dick  slowed  down  the  car  before  the  long 
white  house,  splendid  in  its  simplicity,  Maggie's  excite- 
ment had  added  unto  it  a  palpitant,  chilling  awe.  And 
unto  this  was  added  consternation  when,  as  they  mounted 
the  steps,  Miss  Sherwood  smilingly  crossed  the  piazza 
and  welcomed  her  without  waiting  for  an  introduction. 
Maggie  mumbled  some  reply ;  she  later  could  not  remem- 
ber what  it  was.  Indeed  she  never  had  met  such  a  woman : 
so  finished,  so  gracious,  so  unaffected,  with  a  sparkle  of 
humor  in  her  brown  eyes ;  and  the  rich  plainness  of  her 
white  linen  frock  made  Maggie  conscious  that  her  own 


I8o        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

supposed  simplicity  was  cheap  and  ostentatious.  If  Miss 
Sherwood  had  received  her  with  hostility,  doubt,  or  even 
chilled  civility,  the  situation  would  have  been  easier; 
the  aroused  Maggie  would  then  have  made  use  of  her  own 
great  endowment  of  hauteur  and  self-esteem.  But  to  be 
received  with  this  frank  cordiality,  on  a  basis  of  equality 
with  this  finished  woman  —  that  left  Maggie  for  the 
moment  without  arms.  She  had,  in  her  high  moments, 
believed  herself  an  adventuress  whose  poise  and  plans 
nothing  could  unbalance.  Now  she  found  herself  sud- 
denly just  a  young  girl  of  eighteen  who  did  n't  know  what 
to  do. 

Had  Maggie  but  known  it  that  sudden  unconscious 
confusion,  which  seemed  to  betray  her,  was  really  more 
effective  for  her  purpose  than  would  have  been  the  best 
of  conscious  acting.  It  established  her  at  once  as  an  un- 
stagey  ingSnue  —  simple,  unspoiled,  unacquainted  with 
the  formulas  and  formalities  of  the  world. 

Miss  Sherwood,  in  her  easy  possession  of  the  situation, 
banished  Dick  with  "Run  away  for  a  while,  Dick,  and 
give  us  two  women  a  chance  to  get  acquainted."  She 
had  caught  Maggie's  embarrassment,  and  led  her  to  a 
corner  of  the  veranda  which  looked  down  upon  the  gar- 
dens and  the  glistering  Sound.  She  spoke  of  the  impersonal 
beauties  spread  before  their  vision,  until  she  judged  that 
Maggie's  first  flutter  had  abated ;  then  she  led  the  way  to 
wicker  chairs  beside  a  table  where  obviously  tea  was  to 
be  spread. 

Miss  Sherwood  accepted  Maggie  for  exactly  what  she 
seemed  to  be ;  and  presently  she  was  saying  in  a  low  voice, 
with  her  smiling,  unoffending  directness: 

"Excuse  the  liberty  of  an  older  woman,  Miss  Cameron 
—  but  I  don't  wonder  that  Dick  likes  you.  You  see,  he 's 
told  me." 

If  Maggie  had  been  at  loss  for  her  cue  before,  she  had  it 
now.  It  was  unpretentiousness. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        181 

"But,  Miss  Sherwood  —  I'm  so  crude,"  she  faltered, 
acting  her  best.  "Out  West  I  never  had  any  chances  to 
learn.  Not  any  chances  like  your  Eastern  girls." 

"That's  no  difference,  my  dear.  You  are  a  nice,  simple 
girl  —  that's  what  counts!" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Maggie. 

"So  few  of  our  rich  girls  of  the  East  know  what  it  is  to 
be  simple,"  continued  Miss  Sherwood.  "Too  many  are 
all  affectation,  and  pose,  and  forwardness.  At  twenty 
they  know  all  there  is  to  be  known,  they  are  blas6es  — 
cynical  —  ready  for  divorce  before  they  are  ready  for 
marriage.  By  contrast  you  are  so  wholesome,  so  refresh- 
ing." 

"Thank  you,"  Maggie  again  murmured. 

And  as  the  two  women  sat  there,  sprung  from  the 
extremes  of  life,  but  for  the  moment  on  the  level  of  equals, 
and  as  the  older  talked  on,  there  grew  up  in  Maggie  two 
violently  contradictory  emotions.  One  was  triumph. 
She  had  won  out  here,  just  as  she  had  said  she  would  win 
out;  and  won  out  with  what  Barney  had  declared  to  be 
the  most  difficult  person  to  get  the  better  of,  a  finished 
woman  of  the  world.  Indeed,  that  was  triumph! 

The  other  emotion  she  did  not  understand  so  well. 
And  just  then  she  could  not  analyze  it.  It  was  an  un- 
expected dismay  —  a  vague  but  permeating  sickness  — 
a  dazed  sense  that  she  was  being  carried  by  unfamiliar 
forces  toward  she  knew  not  what. 

She  held  fast  to  her  sense  of  triumph.  That  was  the 
more  apprehendable  and  positive ;  triumph  was  what  she 
had  set  forth  to  win.  This  sense  of  triumph  was  at  its 
highest,  and  she  was  resting  in  its  elating  security,  when 
a  car  stopped  before  the  house  and  a  large  man  got  out 
and  started  up  the  steps.  From  the  first  moment  there 
was  something  familiar  to  Maggie  in  his  carriage,  but  not 
till  Miss  Sherwood,  who  had  risen  and  crossed  toward 
him,  greeted  him  as  "Mr.  Hunt,"  did  Maggie  recognize 


182        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

the  well-dressed  visitor  as  the  shabby,  boisterous  painter 
whom  she  had  last  seen  down  at  the  Duchess's. 

Panic  seized  upon  her.  Miss  Sherwood  was  leading 
him  toward  where  she  sat  and  his  first  clear  sight  of  her 
would  mean  the  end.  There  was  no  possible  escape;  she 
could  only  await  her  fate.  And  when  she  was  denounced 
as  a  fraud,  and  her  glittering  victory  was  gone,  she  could 
only  take  herself  away  with  as  much  of  the  defiance  of  ad- 
mitted defeat  as  she  could  assume  —  and  that  would  n't 
be  much. 

She  gazed  up  at  Hunt,  whitely,  awaiting  extermination. 
Miss  Sherwood's  voice  came  to  her  from  an  infinite  dis- 
tance, introducing  them.  Hunt  bowed,  with  a  formally 
polite  smile,  and  said  formally,  "I'm  very  glad  to  meet 
you,  Miss  Cameron." 

Not  till  he  and  Miss  Sherwood  were  seated  and  chat- 
ting did  Maggie  realize  the  fullness  of  the  astounding 
fact  that  he  had  not  recognized  her.  This  was  far  more 
upsetting  to  her  than  would  have  been  recognition  and 
exposure;  she  had  been  all  braced  for  that,  but  not  for 
what  had  actually  happened.  She  was  certain  he  must 
have  known  her;  nothing  had  really  changed  about  her 
except  her  dress,  and  only  a  few  weeks  had  passed  since 
he  had  been  seeing  her  daily  down  at  the  Duchess's,  and 
since  she  had  been  his  model,  and  he  had  studied  every 
line  and  expression  of  her  face  with  those  sharp  painter's 
eyes  of  his. 

And  so  as  the  two  chatted,  she  putting  in  a  stumbling 
phrase  when  they  turned  to  her,  Maggie  Carlisle,  Maggie 
Cameron,  Maggie  Ellison,  that  gallant  and  all-confident 
adventuress  who  till  the  present  had  never  admitted  her- 
self seriously  disturbed  by  a  problem,  sat  limply  in  her 
chair,  a  very  young  girl,  indeed,  and  wondered  how  this 
thing  could  possibly  be. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        183 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

PRESENTLY  Miss  Sherwood  said  something  about  tea, 
excused  herself,  and  disappeared  within  the  house. 
Maggie  saw  that  Hunt  watched  Miss  Sherwood  till  she 
was  safely  within  doors ;  then  she  was  aware  that  he  was 
gazing  steadily  at  her;  then  she  saw  him  execute  a  slow, 
solemn  wink. 

Maggie  almost  sprang  from  her  chair. 

"Shall  we  take  a  little  stroll,  Miss  Cameron?"  Hunt 
asked.  "I  think  it  will  be  some  time  before  Miss  Sher- 
wood will  want  us  for  tea." 

"Yes  —  thank  you,"  Maggie  stammered. 

Hunt  led  her  down  a  walk  of  white  gravel  to  where  a 
circle  of  Hiawatha  roses  were  trained  into  a  graceful 
mosque,  now  daintily  glorious  with  its  solid  covering  of 
yellow-hearted  red  blooms.  Within  this  retreat  was  a 
rustic  bench,  and  on  this  Hunt  seated  her  and  took  a  place 
beside  her.  He  looked  her  over  with  the  cool,  direct, 
studious  eyes  which  reminded  her  of  his  gaze  when  he  had 
been  painting  her. 

"Well,  Maggie,"  he  finally  commented,  "you  certainly 
look  the  part  you  picked  out  for  yourself,  and  you  seem 
to  be  putting  it  over.  Always  had  an  idea  you  could 
handle  something  big  if  you  went  after  it.  How  d'you 
like  the  life,  being  a  swell  lady  crook?" 

She  had  hardly  heard  his  banter.  She  needed  to  ask 
him  no  questions  about  his  presence  here;  his  ease  of 
bearing  had  conveyed  to  her  unconsciously  from  the  first 
instant  that  her  previous  half-contemptuous  estimate  of 
him  had  been  altogether  wrong  and  that  he  was  now  in  his 
natural  element.  Her  first  question  went  straight  to  the 
cause  of  her  amazement. 

"  Did  n't  you  recognize  me  when  you  first  saw  me  with 
Miss  Sherwood?" 


184        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Yes." 

"Were  n't  you  surprised?" 

"Nope,"  he  answered  with  deliberate  monosyllabic- 
ness. 

"Why  not?" 

"I'd  been  wised  up  that  I'd  be  likely  to  meet  you  — 
and  here." 

"Here!  By  whom?" 

"By  advice  of  counsel  I  must  decline  to  answer." 

"Why  did  n't  you  tell  Miss  Sherwood  who  I  am  and 
show  me  up?" 

"Because  I'd  been  requested  not  to  tell." 

"Requested  by  whom?" 

"Maggie,"  he  drawled,  "you  seem  to  be  making  a  go 
of  this  lady  crook  business  —  but  I  think  you  might  have 
been  even  more  of  a  shining  light  as  a  criminal  cross- 
examiner.  However,  I  refuse  to  be  cross-examined  fur- 
ther. By  the  way,"  he  drawled  on,  "how  goes  it  with 
those  dear  souls,  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie?" 

She  ignored  his  question. 

"Please!  Who  asked  you  not  to  tell?" 

There  was  a  sudden  glint  of  good-humored  malice  in 
his  eyes.  "Mind  if  I  smoke?" 

"No." 

He  drew  out  a  silver  cigarette  case  and  opened  it. 
"Empty!"  he  exclaimed.  "Excuse  me  while  I  get  some- 
thing from  the  house  to  smoke.  I'll  be  right  back." 

Without  waiting  for  her  permission  he  stepped  out  of 
the  arbor  and  she  heard  his  footsteps  crunching  up  the 
gravel  path.  Maggie  waited  his  return  in  pulsing  sus- 
pense. Her  situation  had  been  developing  beyond  any- 
thing she  had  ever  dreamed  of;  she  was  aquiver  as  to  what 
might  happen  next.  So  absorbed  was  she  in  her  chaos  of 
feeling  and  thoughts  that  she  did  not  even  hear  the  humble 
symphony  of  the  hundreds  of  bees  drawing  their  treasure 
from  the  golden  hearts  of  the  roses;  and  did  not  see,  across 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        185 

the  path  a  score  of  yards  away,  the  tall  figure  of  Joe  Elli- 
son among  the  rosebushes,  pruning-shears  in  hand,  with 
which  he  had  been  cutting  out  dead  blossoms,  gazing 
at  her  with  that  hungry,  admiring,  speculative  look  with 
which  he  had  regarded  the  young  women  upon  the 
beach. 

Presently  she  heard  Hunt's  footsteps  coming  down  the 
path.  Then  she  detected  a  second  pair.  Dick  accompany- 
ing him,  she  thought.  And  then  Hunt  appeared  before 
her,  and  was  saying  in  his  big  voice:  "Miss  Cameron, 
permit  me  to  present  my  friend,  Mr.  Brandon."  And 
then  he  added  in  a  lowered  voice,  grinning  with  the  imp- 
ish delight  of  an  overgrown  boy  who  is  playing  a  trick: 
"Thought  I  'd  better  go  through  the  motions  of  introduc- 
ing you  people,  so  it  would  look  as  if  you'd  just  met  for 
the  first  time."  And  with  that  he  was  gone. 

Maggie  had  risen  galvanically.  For  the  moment  she 
could  only  stare.  Then  she  got  out  his  name. 

4 '  Larry ! "  she  whispered .   ' '  You  here  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

Astounded  as  she  was,  she  had  caught  instantly  the 
total  lack  of  amazement  on  Larry's  part. 

"You're  —  you're  not  surprised  to  see  me?" 

"No,"  he  said  evenly.  "I  knew  you  were  here.  And 
before  that  I  knew  you  were  coming." 

That  was  almost  too  much  for  Maggie.  Hunt  had 
known  and  Larry  had  known ;  both  were  people  belonging 
to  her  old  life,  both  the  last  people  she  expected  to  meet 
in  such  circumstances.  She  could  only  stare  at  him  — 
entirely  taken  aback  by  this  meeting. 

And  indeed  it  was  a  strangely  different  meeting  from 
the  last  time  she  had  seen  him,  at  the  Grantham ;  strangely 
different  from  those  earlier  meetings  down  at  the  Duchess's 
when  both  had  been  grubs  as  yet  unmetamorphosized. 
Now  standing  in  the  arbor  they  looked  a  pair  of  week- 
end guests,  in  keeping  with  the  place.  For,  as  Maggie 


186        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

had  noted,  Larry  in  his  well-cut  flannels  was  as  greatly 
transformed  as  Hunt. 

It  was  Larry  who  ended  the  silence.  "Shall  we  sit 
down?" 

She  mechanically  sank  to  the  bench,  still  staring  at  him. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  managed  to  breathe. 

"I  belong  here." 

"Belong  here?" 

"I  work  here,"  he  explained.  "I'm  called  'Mr.  Bran- 
don/ but  Miss  Sherwood  knows  exactly  who  I  am  and 
what  I've  been." 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

"Since  that  night  when  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  took 
you  away  to  begin  your  new  career  —  the  same  night 
that  I  ran  away  from  those  gunmen  who  thought  I  was  a 
squealer,  and  from  Casey  and  Gavegan." 

"And  all  the  while  that  Barney  and  my  father  and  the 
police  have  thought  you  hiding  some  place  in  the  West, 
you've  been  with  the  Sherwoods?" 

"Yes.  And  I've  got  to  remain  in  hiding  until  some- 
thing happens  that  will  clear  me.  If  the  police  or  Barney 
and  his  friends  learn  where  I  am  —  you  can  guess  what 
will  happen." 

She  nodded. 

"Hunt  got  me  here,"  he  went  on  to  explain.  "I 'm  as- 
sisting in  trying  to  get  the  Sherwood  business  affairs  in 
better  shape.  I  might  as  well  tell  you,  Maggie,"  he  added 
quietly,  "that  Dick  Sherwood  is  my  very  good  friend." 

"Dick  Sherwood!"  she  breathed. 

"And  I  might  as  well  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  "that 
since  that  night  at  the  Grantham  when  I  heard  his  voice, 
I  've  known  that  Dick  is  the  sucker  you  and  Barney  and 
Old  Jimmie  are  trying  to  trim." 

She  half  rose,  and  her  voice  sounded  sharply:  "Then 
you  Ve  got  me  caught  in  a  trap!  You've  told  them  about 
me?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        187 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"Not  so  loud,  or  we  may  attract  attention,"  he  warned 
her.  "I  haven't  told  because  you  had  your  chance  to 
give  me  away  to  Barney  that  night  at  the  Grantham. 
And  you  did  n't  give  me  away." 

She  sank  slowly  back  to  the  bench.  "Is  that  your  only 
reason?" 

"No,"  he  answered  truthfully.  "Exposing  you  would 
merely  mean  that  you  'd  feel  harder  toward  me  —  and 
harder  toward  every  one  else.  I  don't  want  that." 

She  pondered  this  a  moment.  "Then  —  you're  not 
going  to  tell?' 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  expect  to.  I  want  you  to 
be  free  to  decide  what  you  're  going  to  do  —  though  I 
hope  you'll  decide  not  to  go  through  with  this  thing 
you're  doing." 

She  made  no  response.  Larry  had  spoken  with  control 
until  now,  but  his  next  words  burst  from  him. 

"  Don't  you  see  what  a  situation  it's  put  me  in,  Maggie 
—  trying  to  play  square  with  my  friends,  the  Sherwoods, 
and  trying  to.  play  square  with  you?" 

Again  she  did  not  answer. 

"Maggie,  you're  too  good  for  what  you're  doing  — 
it's  all  a  terrible  mistake!"  he  cried  passionately.  Then 
he  remembered  himself,  and  spoke  with  more  composure. 
"Oh,  I  know  there's  not  much  use  in  talking  to  you 
now  —  while  you  feel  as  you  do  about  yourself  —  and 
while  you  feel  as  you  do  about  me.  But  you  know  I  love 
you,  and  want  to  marry  you  —  when  —  "  He  halted. 

"When?"  she  prompted,  almost  involuntarily. 

"When  you  see  things  differently  —  and  when  I  can 
go  around  the  world  a  free  man,  not  a  fugitive  from 
Barney  and  his  gunmen  and  the  police." 

Again  Maggie  was  silent  for  a  moment.  It  was  as  if 
she  were  trying  to  press  out  of  her  mind  what  he  had  said 


188        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

about  loving  her.  Truly  this  was,  indeed,  different  from 
their  previous  meetings.  Before,  there  had  almost  in- 
variably been  a  defiant  attitude,  a  dispute,  a  quarrel. 
Now  she  had  no  desire  to  quarrel. 

Finally  she  said  with  an  effort  to  be  that  self-controlled 
person  which  she  had  established  as  her  model: 

"You  seem  to  have  your  chance  here  to  put  over 
what  you  boasted  to  me  about.  You  remember  making 
good  in  a  straight  way." 

"Yes.  And  I  shall  make  good  —  if  only  they  will  let 
me  alone."  He  paused  an  instant.  "But  I  have  no 
illusions  about  the  present,"  he  went  on  quietly.  "I'm 
in  quiet  water  for  a  time;  I've  got  a  period  of  safety; 
and  I'm  using  this  chance  to  put  in  some  hard  work. 
But  presently  the  police  and  Barney  and  the  others  will 
learn  where  I  am.  Then  I'll  have  all  that  fight  over 
again  —  only  the  next  time  it'll  be  harder." 

She  was  startled  into  a  show  of  interest.  "You  think 
that's  really  going  to  happen?" 

"It's  bound  to.  There's  no  escaping  it.  If  for  no 
other  reason,  I  myself  won't  be  able  to  stand  being 
penned  up  indefinitely.  Something  will  happen,  I  don't 
know  what,  which  will  pull  me  out  into  the  open  world  — 
and  then  for  me  the  deluge!" 

He  made  this  prediction  grimly.  He  was  not  a  fatalist, 
but  it  had  been  borne  in  upon  him  recently  that  this 
thing  was  inescapable.  As  for  him,  when  that  time  came, 
he  was  going  to  put  up  the  best  fight  that  was  in  him. 

He  caught  the  strained  look  which  had  come  into 
Maggie's  face,  and  it  prompted  him  suddenly  to  lean 
toward  her  and  say: 

"Maggie,  do  you  still  think  I'm  a  stool  and  a 
squealer?" 

«I_" 

She  broke  off.  She  had  a  surging  impulse  to  go  on  and 
say  something  to  Larry.  A  great  deal.  She  was  not 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        189 

conscious  of  what  that  great  deal  was.  She  was  conscious 
only  of  the  impulse.  There  was  too  great  a  turmoil 
within  her,  begotten  by  the  strain  of  her  visit  on  Miss 
Sherwood  and  these  unexpected  meetings,  for  any  mo- 
tive, impulse,  or  decision  to  emerge  to  even  a  brief  su- 
premacy. And  so,  during  this  period  when  her  brain 
would  not  operate,  she  let  herself  be  swept  on  by  the 
momentum  of  the  forces  which  had  previously  deter- 
mined her  direction  —  her  pride,  her  self-confidence,  her 
ambition,  the  alliance  of  fortune  between  her  and  Barney 
and  Old  Jimmie. 

They  were  sitting  in  this  silence  when  footsteps  again 
sounded  on  the  gravel,  and  a  shadow  blotted  the  arbor  floor. 

"  Excuse  me,  Larry,"  said  a  man's  voice. 

"Sure.  What  is  it,  Joe?" 

Before  her  Maggie  saw  the  tall,  thin  man  in  overalls, 
his  removed  broad-brimmed  hat  revealing  his  white 
hair,  whom  she  had  noticed  a  little  earlier  working 
among  the  flowers.  He  held  a  bunch  of  the  choicest 
pickings  from  the  abundant  rose  gardens,  their  stems 
bound  in  maple  leaves  as  temporary  protection  against 
their  thorns.  He  was  gazing  at  Maggie,  respectful, 
hungry  admiration  in  his  somber  eyes. 

"I  thought  perhaps  the  young  lady  might  care  for 
these."  He  held  out  the  roses  to  her.  And  then  quickly, 
to  forestall  refusal:  "I  cut  out  more  than  we  can  use  for 
the  house.  And  I  'd  like  to  have  you  have  them." 

"Thank  you,"  and  Maggie  took  the  flowers. 

For  an  instant  their  eyes  held.  In  every  outward  cir- 
cumstance the  event  was  a  commonplace  —  this  meeting 
of  father  arid  daughter,  not  knowing  each  other.  It  was 
hardly  more  than  a  commonplace  to  Maggie:  just  a  tall, 
white-haired  gardener  respectfully  offering  her  roses. 
And  it  was  hardly  more  to  Joe  Ellison:  just  a  tribute 
evoked  by  his  hungry  interest  in  every  well-seeming  girl 
of  the  approximate  age  of  his  daughter. 


190       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

At  the  moment's  end  Joe  Ellison  had  bowed  and 
started  back  for  his  flower  beds.  "Who  is  that  man?" 
asked  Maggie,  gazing  after  him.  "  I  never  saw  such  eyes." 

"We  used  to  be  pals  in  Sing  Sing,"  Larry  replied.  He 
went  on  to  give  briefly  some  of  the  details  of  Joe  Ellison's 
story,  never  dreaming  how  he  and  Maggie  were  entangled 
in  that  story,  nor  how  they  were  to  be  involved  in  its 
untanglement.  Perhaps  they  were  fortunate  in  this 
ignorance.  Within  the  boundaries  of  what  they  did 
know  life  already  held  enough  of  problems  and  com- 
plications. 

Larry  had  just  finished  his  condensed  history  when 
Dick  Sherwood  appeared  and  ordered  them  to  the 
veranda  for  tea.  There  were  just  the  five  of  them, 
Miss  Sherwood,  Maggie,  Hunt,  Dick,  and  Larry.  Miss 
Sherwood  was  as  gracious  as  before,  and  she  seemingly 
took  Maggie's  strained  manner  and  occasional  confusions 
as  further  proof  of  her  genuineness.  Dick  beamed  at 
the  impression  she  was  making  upon  his  sister. 

As  for  Maggie,  she  was  living  through  the  climax  of 
that  afternoon's  strain.  And  she  dared  not  show  it.  She 
forced  herself  to  do  her  best  acting,  sipping  her  tea  with 
a  steady  hand.  And  what  made  her  situation  harder  was 
that  two  of  the  party,  Larry  and  Hunt,  were  treating 
her  with  the  charmed  deference  they  might  accord  a 
charming  stranger,  when  a  word  from  either  of  them 
might  destroy  the  fragile  edifice  of  her  deception. 

At  last  it  was  over,  and  all  was  ready  for  her  to  start 
back  to  town  with  Dick.  When  Miss  Sherwood  kissed 
her  and  warmly  begged  her  to  come  again  soon,  the  very 
last  of  her  control  seemed  to  be  slipping  from  her  —  but 
she  held  on.  Larry  and  Hunt  she  managed  to  say  good- 
bye to  in  the  manner  of  her  new  acquaintanceship. 

"Isn't  she  simply  splendid!"  exclaimed  Miss  Sher- 
wood when  Dick  had  stepped  into  the  car  and  the  two 
had  started  away. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        191 

Larry  pretended  not  to  have  heard.  He  felt  pre- 
cariously guilty  toward  this  woman  who  had  befriended 
him.  The  next  instant  he  had  forgotten  Miss  Sherwood 
and  his  pulsing  thoughts  were  all  on  Maggie  in  that 
speeding  car.  She  had  been  profoundly  shaken  by  that 
afternoon's  experience,  this  much  he  knew.  But  what 
was  going  to  be  the  real  effect  upon  her  of  his  carefully 
thought-out  design?  Was  it  going  to  be  such  as  to  save 
her  and  Dick?  —  and  eventually  win  her  for  himself? 

In  the  presence  of  Miss  Sherwood  Larry  tried  to  be- 
have as  if  nothing  had  happened  more  than  the  pleasant 
interruption  of  an  informal  tea:  but  beneath  that  calm 
all  his  senses  were  waiting  breathless,  so  to  speak,  for 
news  of  what  had  happened  within  Maggie,  and  what 
might  be  happening  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHEN  Maggie  sped  away  from  Cedar  Crest  in  the  low 
seat  of  the  roadster  beside  the  happy  Dick,  she  felt  her- 
self more  of  a  criminal  than  at  any  time  in  her  life,  and 
a  criminal  that  miraculously  was  making  her  escape  out 
of  an  inescapable  set  of  circumstances. 

Beyond  her  relief  at  this  escape  she  did  not  know 
these  first  few  minutes  what  she  thought  or  felt.  Too 
much  had  happened,  and  what  had  happened  had  all 
turned  out  so  differently  from  what  she  had  expected, 
for  her  to  set  in  orderly  array  this  chaos  of  reactions 
within  herself  and  read  the  meaning  of  that  afternoon's 
visit.  She  managed,  with  a  great  effort,  to  keep  under 
control  the  outer  extremities  of  her  senses,  and  thus 
respond  with  the  correct  "yes"  or  "no"  or  "indeed" 
when  some  response  from  her  was  required  by  Dick's 
happy  conversation. 

Near  Roslyn  they  swung  off  the  turnpike  into  an  un- 


192        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

frequented,  shady  road.  Dick  steered  to  one  side  be- 
neath a  locust-tree  and  silenced  the  motor. 

"Why  are  you  stopping?"  she  asked  in  sudden 
alarm. 

"So  we  can  talk  without  a  piece  of  impertinent  ma- 
chinery roaring  interruptions  at  us,"  replied  Dick  with 
forced  lightness.  And  then  in  a  voice  he  could  not  make 
light:  "I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  —  about  my  sister. 
Isn't  she  splendid?" 

"She  is!"  There  was  no  wavering  of  her  thoughts  as 
Maggie  emphatically  said  this. 

"I'm  mighty  glad  you  like  her.  She  certainly  liked 
you.  She's  all  the  family  I've  got,  and  since  you  two 
hit  it  off  so  well  together  I  hope  —  I  hope,  Maggie  —  " 

And  then  Dick  plunged  into  it,  stammeringly,  but 
earnestly.  He  told  her  how  much  he  loved  her,  in  old 
phrases  that  his  boyish  ardor  made  vibrantly  new.  He 
loved  her!  And  if  she  would  marry  him,  her  influence 
would  make  him  take  the  brace  all  his  friends  had  urged 
upon  him.  She'd  make  him  a  man!  And  she  could  see 
how  pleased  it  would  make  his  sister.  And  he  would  do 
his  best  to  make  Maggie  happy  —  his  very  best! 

The  young  super-adventuress  —  she  herself  had  men- 
tally used  the  word  "adventuress"  in  thinking  of  herself, 
as  being  more  genteel  and  mentally  aristocratic  than  the 
cruder  words  by  which  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  and  their 
kind  designated  a  woman  accomplice  —  this  young 
super-adventuress,  who  had  schemed  all  this  so  adroitly, 
and  worked  toward  it  with  the  best  of  her  brain  and  her 
conscious  charm,  was  seized  with  new  panic  as  she  lis- 
tened to  the  eager  torrent  of  his  imploring  words,  as  she 
gazed  into  the  quivering  earnestness  of  his  frank,  blue- 
eyed  face.  She  wished  she  could  get  out  of  the  machine 
and  run  away  or  sink  through  the  floor-boards  of  the  car. 
For  she  really  liked  Dick. 

"  I'm  —  I'm  not  so  good  as  you  think,"  she  whispered. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        193 

And  then  some  unsuspected  force  within  her  impelled 
her  to  say:  "Dick,  if  you  knew  the  truth  —  " 

He  caught  her  shoulders.  "I  know  all  the  truth  about 
you  I  want  to  know!  You're  wonderful,  and  I  love  you! 
Will  you  marry  me?  Answer  that.  That's  all  I  want  to 
know!" 

He  had  checked  the  confession  that  impulsively  had 
surged  toward  her  lips.  Silent,  her  eyes  wide,  her  breath 
coming  sharply,  she  sat  gazing  at  him.  .  .  .  And  then 
from  out  the  portion  of  her  brain  where  were  stored  her 
purposes,  and  the  momentum  of  her  pride  and  determi- 
nation, there  flashed  the  realization  that  she  had  won! 
The  thing  that  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  had  prepared 
and  she  had  so  skillfully  worked  toward,  was  at  last 
achieved!  She  had  only  to  say  "yes,"  and  either  of  those 
two  plans  which  Barney  had  outlined  could  at  once  be 
put  in  operation  —  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the 
swift  success  of  either.  Dick's  eager,  trusting  face  was 
guarantee  that  there  would  come  no  obstruction  from 
him. 

She  felt  that  in  some  strange  way  she  had  been  caught 
in  a  trap.  Yes,  what  they  had  worked  for,  they  had  won ! 
And  yet,  in  this  moment  of  winning,  as  elements  of  her 
vast  dizziness,  Maggie  felt  sick  and  ashamed  —  felt  a 
frenzied  desire  to  run  away  from  the  whole  affair.  For 
Maggie,  cynical,  all-confident,  and  eighteen,  was  proving 
really  a  very  poor  adventuress. 

"Please,  Maggie" — his  imploring  voice  broke  in 
upon  her  —  "won't  you  answer  me?  You  like  me,  don't 
you?  —  you'll  marry  me,  won't  you? " 

"I  like  you,  Dick,"  she  choked  out  —  and  it  was  some 
slight  comfort  to  her  to  be  telling  this  much  of  the  truth  — 
"but  —  but  I  can't  marry  you." 

"Maggie!"  It  was  a  cry  of  surprised  pain,  and  the 
pain  in  his  voice  shot  acutely  into  her.  "From  the  way 
you  acted  toward  me  —  I  thought  —  I  hoped  —  "  He 


194       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

sharply  halted  the  accusation  which  had  risen  to  his 
lips.  "I'm  not  going  to  take  that  answer  as  final,  Mag- 
gie," he  said  doggedly.  "I'm  going  to  give  you  more 
time  to  think  it  over  —  more  time  for  me  to  try.  Then 
I  '11  ask  you  again." 

That  which  prompted  Maggie's  response  was  a  mixture 
of  impulses:  the  desire,  and  this  offered  opportunity,  to 
escape;  and  a  faint  reassertion  of  the  momentum  of  her 
purpose.  For  with  one  such  as  Maggie,  the  set  purposes 
may  be  seemingly  overwhelmed,  but  death  comes  hard. 

"All  right,"  she  breathed  rapidly.  "Only  please  get 
me  back  as  quickly  as  you  can.  I  'm  to  have  dinner  with 
my  —  my  cousin,  and  I  '11  be  very  late." 

Dick  drove  her  into  the  city  in  almost  unbroken 
silence  and  left  her  at  the  great  doors  of  the  Grantham, 
abustle  with  a  dozen  lackeys  in  purple  livery.  She  stood 
a  moment  and  watched  him  drive  away.  He  really  was  a 
nice  boy  —  Dick. 

As  she  shot  up  the  elevator,  she  thought  of  a  hitherto 
forgotten  element  of  that  afternoon's  bewildering  situ- 
ation. Barney  Palmer!  And  Barney  was,  she  knew,  now 
up  in  her  sitting-room,  impatiently  waiting  for  her  report 
of  what  he  had  good  reason  to  believe  would  prove  a 
successful  experience.  If  she  told  the  truth  —  that  Dick 
had  proposed,  just  as  they  had  planned  for  him  to  do  — 
and  she  had  refused  him  —  why,  Barney  — ! 

She  seemed  caught  on  every  side! 

Maggie  got  into  her  suite  by  way  of  her  bedroom.  She 
wanted  time  to  gather  her  wits  for  meeting  Barney. 
When  Miss  Grierson  told  her  that  her  cousin  was  still 
waiting  to  take  her  to  dinner,  she  requested  her  com- 
panion to  inform  Barney  that  she  would  be  in  as  soon  as 
she  had  dressed.  She  wasted  all  the  time  she  legitimately 
could  in  changing  into  a  dinner-gown,  and  when  at 
length  she  stepped  into  her  sitting-room  she  was  to 
Barney's  eye  the  same  cool  Maggie  as  always. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        195 

Barney  rose  as  she  entered.  He  was  in  smart  dinner 
jacket;  these  days  Barney  was  wearing  the  smartest  of 
everything  that  money  could  secure.  There  was  a  shadow 
of  impatience  on  his  face,  but  it  was  instantly  dissipated 
by  Maggie's  self -composed,  direct-eyed  beauty. 

"How'd  you  come  out  with  Miss  Sherwood?"  he 
whispered  eagerly. 

"Well  enough  for  her  to  kiss  me  good-bye,  and  beg 
me  to  come  again." 

"I've  got  to  hand  it  to  you,  Maggie!  You're  sure 
some  swell  actress  —  you've  sure  got  class!"  His  dark 
eyes  gleamed  on  her  with  half  a  dozen  pleasures:  admi- 
ration of  what  she  was  in  herself  —  admiration  of  what 
she  had  just  achieved  —  anticipation  of  results,  many 
results  —  anticipation  of  what  she  was  later  to  mean  to 
him  in  a  personal  way.  "If  you  can  put  it  over  on  a 
swell  like  Miss  Sherwood,  you  can  put  it  over  on  any 
one!"  He  exulted.  "As  soon  as  we  clean  up  this  job  in 
hand,  we'll  move  on  to  one  big  thing  after  another!" 

And  then  out  came  the  question  Maggie  had  been 
bracing  herself  for:  "How  about  Dick  Sherwood?  Did  he 
finally  come  across  with  that  proposal?" 

"No,"  Maggie  answered  steadily. 

"No?  Why  not?"  exclaimed  Barney  sharply.  "I 
thought  that  was  all  that  was  holding  him  back  —  wait- 
ing for  his  sister  to  look  you  over  and  give  you  her 
O.K.?" 

Maggie  had  decided  that  her  air  of  cool,  indifferent 
certainty  was  the  best  manner  to  use  in  this  situation 
with  Barney.  So  she  shrugged  her  white  shoulders. 

"How  can  I  tell  what  makes  a  man  do  something,  and 
what  makes  him  not  do  it?" 

"But  did  he  seem  any  less  interested  in  you  than 
before?"  Barney  pursued. 

"No,"  replied  Maggie. 

"Then  maybe  he's  just  waiting  to  get  up  his  nerve. 


196        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

He'll  ask  you,  all  right;  nothing  there  for  us  to  worry 
about.  Come  on,  let's  have  dinner.  I'm  starved." 

On  the  roof  of  the  Grantham  they  were  excellently 
served;  for  Barney  knew  how  to  order  a  dinner,  and  he 
knew  the  art,  which  is  an  alchemistic  mixture  of  suave 
diplomacy  and  the  insinuated  power  and  purpose  of 
murder,  of  handling  head-waiters  and  their  sub-auto- 
crats. Having  no  other  business  in  hand,  Barney  de- 
voted himself  to  that  business  which  ran  like  a  core 
through  all  his  businesses  —  paying  court  to  Maggie. 
And  when  Barney  wished  to  be  a  courtier,  there  were 
few  of  his  class  who  could  give  a  better  superficial  inter- 
pretation of  the  r61e;  and  in  this  particular  instance  he 
was  at  the  advantage  of  being  in  earnest.  He  forced  the 
most  expensive  tidbits  announced  by  the  dinner  card 
upon  Maggie;  he  gallantly  and  very  gracefully  put  on 
and  removed,  as  required  by  circumstances,  the  green 
cobweb  of  a  scarf  Maggie  had  brought  to  the  roof  as  pro- 
tection against  the  elements;  and  when  he  took  the  danc- 
ing-floor with  her,  he  swung  her  about  and  hopped  up 
and  down  and  stepped  in  and  out  with  all  the  skill  of  a 
master  of  the  modern  perversion  of  dancing.  Barney  was 
really  good  enough  to  have  been  a  professional  dancer 
had  his  desires  not  led  him  toward  what  seemed  to  him 
a  more  exciting  and  more  profitable  career. 

Maggie,  not  to  rouse  Barney's  suspicions,  played  her 
r61e  as  well  as  he  did  his  own.  And  most  of  the  other 
diners,  a  fraction  of  the  changing  two  or  three  hundred 
thousand  people  from  the  South  and  West  who  choose 
New  York  as  the  best  of  all  summer  resorts,  gazed  upon 
this  handsome  couple  with  their  intricate  steps  which 
were  timed  with  such  effortless  and  enviable  accuracy, 
and  excitedly  believed  that  they  were  beholding  two  dis- 
tinguished specimens  of  what  their  home  papers  persisted 
in  calling  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

Maggie  got  back  to  her  room  with  the  feeling  that  she 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        197 

had  staved  off  Barney  and  her  numerous  other  dilemmas 
for  the  immediate  present.  Her  chief  thought  in  the 
many  events  of  the  day  had  been  only  to  escape  her 
dangers  and  difficulties  for  the  moment;  all  the  time  she 
had  known  that  her  real  thinking,  her  real  decisions,  were 
for  a  later  time  when  she  was  not  so  driven  by  the  press 
of  unexpected  circumstances.  That  less  stressful  time 
was  now  beginning. 

What  was  she  to  do  next?  What  were  to  be  her  final 
decisions?  And  what,  in  all  this  strange  ferment,  was 
likely  to  germinate  as  possible  forces  against  her? 

She  mulled  these  things  over  for  several  days,  during 
which  Dick  came  to  see  her  twice,  and  twice  proposed, 
and  was  twice  put  off.  She  had  quiet  now,  and  was  most 
of  the  time  alone,  but  that  clarity  which  she  had  ex- 
pected, that  quickness  and  surety  of  purpose  which  she 
had  always  believed  to  be  unfailingly  hers,  refused  to 
come. 

She  tried  to  have  it  otherwise,  but  the  outstanding 
figure  in  her  meditations  was  Larry.  Larry,  who  had  not 
exposed  her  at  the  Sherwoods',  and  whose  influence  had 
caused  Hunt  also  not  to  expose  her  —  Larry,  who  with- 
out deception  was  on  a  familiar  footing  at  the  Sherwoods' 
where  she  had  been  received  only  through  trickery  — 
Larry,  a  fugitive  in  danger  from  so  many  enemies,  per- 
haps after  all  undeserved  enemies  —  Larry,  who  looked 
to  be  making  good  on  his  boast  to  achieve  success  through 
honesty  —  Larry,  who  had  again  told  her  that  he  loved 
her.  She  liked  Dick  Sherwood  —  she  really  did.  But 
Larry  —  that  was  something  different. 

And  thus  she  thought  on,  drawn  this  way  and  that,  and 
unable  to  reach  a  decision.  But  with  most  people,  when 
in  a  state  of  acute  mental  turmoil,  that  which  has  been 
most  definite  in  the  past,  instinct,  habit  of  mind,  purpose, 
tradition,  becomes  at  least  temporarily  the  dominant 
factor  through  the  mere  circumstance  that  it  has  existed 


198        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

powerfully  before,  through  its  comparative  stability, 
through  its  semi-permanence.  And  so  with  Maggie.  She 
had  for  that  one  afternoon  almost  been  won  over  against 
herself  by  the  workings  of  Larry's  secret  diplomacy. 
Then  had  come  the  natural  reaction.  And  now  in  her 
turmoil,  in  so  far  as  she  had  any  decision,  it  was  in- 
stinctively to  go  right  ahead  in  the  direction  in  which  she 
had  been  going. 

But  on  the  sixth  day  of  her  uncertainty,  just  after 
Dick  had  called  on  her  and  she  had  provisionally  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  to  Cedar  Crest  for  the  following 
afternoon,  a  danger  which  she  had  half  seen  from  the 
start  burst  upon  her  without  a  moment's  warning.  It 
came  into  her  sitting-room,  just  before  her  dinner  hour, 
in  the  dual  form  of  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie.  The  faces 
of  both  were  lowering. 

"Get  rid  of  that  boob  chaperon  of  yours!"  gritted 
Barney.  "We're  going  to  have  some  real  talk!" 

Maggie  stepped  to  the  connecting  door,  sent  Miss 
Grierson  on  an  inconsequential  errand,  and  returned. 

"You're  looking  as  pleasant  as  if  you  were  sitting  for 
a  new  photograph,  Barney.  What  gives  you  that  sweet 
expression?" 

"You'll  cut  out  your  comic-supplement  stuff  in  just 
one  second,"  Barney  warned  her.  "We  both  saw  young 
Sherwood  awhile  ago  as  he  was  leaving  the  Grantham, 
and  he  told  us  everything/1' 

Persiflage  did  indeed  fail  Maggie.  "Everything?"  she 
exclaimed.  "What's  everything?" 

"He  told  us  about  proposing  to  you  almost  a  week 
ago,  and  about  your  refusing  him.  And  you  lied  to  us  — 
kept  us  sitting  round,  wasting  our  time  —  and  all  the 
while  you've  been  double-crossing  us!" 

Those  visitors  from  South  and  West,  especially  the 
women,  who  a  few  nights  before  on  the  roof  had  regarded 
Barney  as  the  perfect  courtier,  would  not  have  so  es- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        199 

teemed  him  if  they  had  seen  him  at  the  present  moment. 
He  seized  Maggie's  wrists,  and  all  the  evil  of  his  violent 
nature  glared  from  his  small  bright  eyes. 

"Damn  you!"  he  cried.  "Jimmie,  she's  yours,  and  a 
father's  got  a  right  to  do  anything  he  likes  to  his  own 
daughter.  Give  it  to  her  proper  if  she  don't  come  across 
with  the  truth!" 

Jimmie  stepped  closer  to  her  and  bared  his  yellow 
teeth.  "I  haven't  given  you  a  basting  since  you  were 
fifteen  —  but  I  '11  paste  you  one  right  in  the  mouth  if  you 
don't  talk  straight  talk!" 

"You  hear  that!"  Barney  gritted  at  her.  He  believed 
there  was  justice  in  his  wrath  —  as  indeed  there  was,  of 
a  sort.  "Think  what  Jimmie  and  I've  put  into  this,  in 
time  and  hard  coin !  We  Ve  given  you  your  chance,  we  Ve 
made  you!  And  then,  after  hard  work  and  waiting  and 
our  spending  so  much,  and  everything  comes  out  exactly 
as  we  figured,  you  go  and  throw  us  down  —  not  just  your- 
self, but  us  and  our  rights!  Now  you  talk  straight  stuff! 
Tell  us,  why  did  you  refuse  Sherwood  when  he  proposed? 
And  why  did  you  tell  me  that  lie  about  his  not  proposing?  " 

Maggie  realized  she  was  in  a  desperate  plight,  with 
these  two  inflamed  gazes  upon  her.  Never  had  she  felt  so 
little  of  a  daughter's  liking  for  Old  Jimmie  as  now  when 
she  looked  into  his  lean,  harsh,  yellow-fanged  face.  And 
she  had  no  illusions  about  Barney.  He  might  love  her, 
as  she  knew  he  did ;  but  that  would  not  be  a  check  upon 
his  ruthlessness  if  he  thought  himself  balked  or  betrayed. 

Just  then  her  telephone  began  to  ring.  She  started  to 
move  toward  it,  but  Barney's  grip  checked  her  short. 

"You're  going  to  answer  me  —  not  any  damned  tele- 
phone! Let  it  ring!" 

The  bell  rang  for  a  minute  or  two  before  it  stilled  its 
shrill  clamor.  Its  ringing  was  in  a  way  a  brief  respite  to 
Maggie,  for  it  gave  her  additional  time  to  consider  what 
should  be  her  course.  She  realized  that  she  dared  not  let 


200  '      CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND  j 

Barney  believe  at  this  moment  that  she  had  turned 
against  him.  Again  she  fell  back  upon  her  cool,  self- 
confident  manner. 

' '  You  want  to  know  why?  The  answer  is  simple  enough. 
I  thought  I  might  try  out  an  improvement  of  our  plan  — 
something  that  might  suit  me  better." 

"What's  that?"  Barney  harshly  demanded. 

"Since  Miss  Sherwood  fell  for  me  so  easy,  it  struck  me 
that  she'd  be  pretty  sure  to  fall  for  me  if  I  told  her  the 
whole  truth  about  myself.  That  is,  everything  except 
our  scheme  to  play  Dick  for  a  sucker." 

"What 're  you  driving  at?" 

"Don't  you  see?  If  she  forgave  me  being  what  I  am, 
and  I  rather  think  she  would,  and  with  Dick  liking  me  as 
he  does  —  why,  it  struck  me  as  the  best  thing  for  yours 
truly  to  marry  Dick  for  keeps." 

"What?"  Though  Barney's  voice  was  low,  it  had  the 
effect  of  a  startled  and  savage  roar.  "And  chuck  us  over- 
board?" 

"Not  at  all.  If  I  married  Dick  for  keeps,  I  intended  to 
pay  you  a  lump  sum,  or  else  a  regular  amount  each  year." 

"No,  you  don't!"  Barney  cried  in  the  same  muffled 
roar. 

"Perhaps  not — I  haven't  decided,"  Maggie  said 
evenly.  "I've  merely  been  telling  you,  as  you  requested 
me,  why  I  did  as  I  did.  I  refused  Dick,  and  lied  to  you, 
so  that  I  might  have  more  time  to  think  over  what  I 
really  wanted  to  do." 

Instinctively  she  had  counted  on  rousing  Barney's 
jealousy  in  order  to  throw  him  off  the  track  of  her  real 
thoughts.  She  succeeded. 

"I  can  tell  you  what  you're  going  to  do!"  Barney 
flung  at  her  with  fierce  mastery.  "You  're  not  going  to  put 
over  a  sure-enough  marriage  with  any  Dick  Sherwood! 
When  there 's  that  kind  of  a  marriage,  I  'm  going  to  be  the 
man !  And  you  're  going  to  go  right  straight  ahead  with 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        201 

our  old  plan!  Dick '11  propose  again  if  you  give  him  half  a 
chance.  And  when  he  does,  you  say  'yes'l  Understand? 
That's  what  you're  going  to  do!" 

There  was  no  safety  in  openly  defying  Barney.  And  as 
a  matter  of  fact  what  he  had  ordered  was  what,  in  the 
shifting  currents  of  her  thoughts,  the  steady  momentum 
of  her  old  ambitions  and  purposes  had  been  pushing  her 
toward.  So  she  said,  in  her  even  voice: 

"You  waste  such  a  lot  of  your  good  energy,  Barney, 
by  exploding  when  there 's  nothing  to  blow  up.  That 's 
exactly  what  I  'd  decided  to  do.  Miss  Sherwood  has  asked 
me  out  to  Cedar  Crest  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  I'm 
going." 

Barney  let  go  the  hold  he  had  kept  upon  her  wrists, 
and  the  dark  look  slowly  lifted  from  his  face.  "Why 
did  n't  you  tell  a  fellow  this  at  first?"  he  half  grumbled. 
Then  with  a  grim  enthusiasm:  "And  when  you  come 
back,  you're  going  to  tell  us  it's  all  settled!" 

"  Of  course  —  if  he  asks  me.  And  now  suppose  you  two 
go  away.  You've  given  me  a  headache,  and  I  want  to 
rest." 

"We'll  go,"  said  Barney.  "But  there  may  be  some 
more  points  about  this  that  we  may  want  to  talk  over  a 
little  later  to-night.  So  better  get  all  the  rest  you  can." 

But  when  they  had  gone  and  left  her  to  the  silence  of 
her  pretentious  and  characterless  suite,  Maggie  did  not 
rest.  She  had  made  up  her  mind ;  she  was  going  to  do  as 
she  had  said.  But  there  was  still  that  same  turmoil  within 
her. 

Again  she  thought  of  Larry.  But  she  would  not  admit 
to  herself  that  her  real  motive  for  suddenly  deciding  to  go 
to  Cedar  Crest  on  the  morrow  was  the  chance  of  seeing 
him. 


202        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

DURING  all  these  days  Larry  waited  for  news  of  the  result 
of  the  experiment  in  psychology  which  meant  so  much 
to  his  life.  He  had  not  expected  to  hear  directly  from 
Maggie;  but  he  had  counted  upon  learning  at  once  from 
Dick,  if  not  by  words,  then  either  from  eloquent  dejection 
which  would  proclaim  Dick's  refusal  (and  Larry's  success) 
or  from  an  ebullient  joy  which  would  proclaim  that 
Maggie  had  accepted  him.  But  Dick's  sober  but  not  un- 
happy behavior  announced  neither  of  these  two  to  Larry; 
and  the  matter  was  too  personal,  altogether  too  delicate, 
to  permit  Larry  to  ask  Dick  the  result,  however  subtly  he 
might  ask  it. 

So  Larry  could  only  wait  —  and  wonder.  The  truth 
did  not  occur  to  Larry;  he  did  not  see  that  there  might  be 
another  alternative  to  the  two  possible  reactions  he  had 
calculated  upon.  He  did  not  bear  in  mind  that  Maggie's 
youthful  obstinacy,  her  belief  in  herself  and  her  ways, 
were  too  solid  a  structure  to  yield  at  once  to  one  moral 
shock,  however  wisely  planned  and  however  strong.  He 
did  not  at  this  time  hold  in  mind  that  any  real  change  in 
so  decided  a  character  as  Maggie,  if  change  there  was  to 
be,  would  be  preceded  and  accompanied  by  a  turbulent 
period  in  which  she  would  hardly  know  who  she  was,  or 
where  she  was,  or  what  she  was  going  to  do  —  and  that 
at  the  end  of  such  a  period  there  might  be  no  change  at 
all. 

Inasmuch  as  just  then  Maggie  was  his  major  interest, 
it  seemed  to  Larry  in  his  safe  seclusion  that  he  was  merely 
marking  time,  and  marking  time  with  feet  that  were 
frantically  impatient.  He  felt  he  could  not  stand  much 
longer  his  own  inactivity  and  his  ignorance  of  what 
Maggie  was  doing  and  what  was  happening  to  her.  He 
could  not  remain  in  this  sanctuary  pulling  strings,  and 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        203 

very  long  and  fragile  strings,  and  strings  which  might  be 
the  mistaken  ones,  for  any  much  greater  period.  He  felt 
that  he  simply  had  to  walk  out  of  this  splendid  safety, 
back  into  the  dangers  from  which  he  had  fled,  where  he 
might  at  least  have  the  possible  advantage  of  being  in  the 
very  midst  of  Maggie's  affairs  and  fight  for  her  more  openly 
and  have  a  more  direct  influence  upon  her. 

He  knew  that,  sooner  or  later,  he  was  going  to  throw 
caution  aside  and  appear  suddenly  among  his  enemies, 
unless  something  of  a  definite  character  developed.  But 
for  these  slow,  irritating  days  he  held  himself  in  check 
with  difficulty,  hoping  that  things  might  come  to  him, 
that  he  would  not  have  to  go  forth  to  them. 

He  had  brought  Hunt's  portrait  of  Maggie  to  Cedar 
Crest  in  the  bottom  of  his  trunk,  and  kept  it  locked  in 
his  chiffonier.  During  these  days,  more  frequently  than 
before,  he  would  take  out  the  portrait  and  in  the  security 
of  his  locked  room  would  gaze  long  at  that  keen-visioned 
portrayal  of  her  many  characters.  No  doubt  of  it :  there 
was  a  possible  splendid  woman  there !  And  no  doubt  of  it : 
he  loved  that  woman  utterly! 

During  these  days  of  his  ignorance,  while  Maggie  was 
struggling  in  the  darkness  of  her  unexplored  being,  Larry 
drove  himself  grimly  at  the  business  to  which  under  hap- 
pier circumstances  he  would  have  gone  under  the  ir- 
resistible suasion  of  pure  joy.  One  afternoon  he  presented 
to  Miss  Sherwood  an  outline  for  his  growing  plan  for  the 
development  of  the  Sherwood  properties  on  the  basis  of 
good  homes  at  fair  rentals.  He  discovered  that,  in  spite  of 
her  generous  giving,  she  had  much  the  same  attitude  to- 
ward Charity  as  his  own:  that  the  only  sound  Charity, 
except  for  those  temporarily  or  permanently  handicapped 
or  disabled,  was  the  giving  of  honest  values  for  honest 
returns  —  and  that  was  not  Charity  at  all. 

The  project  of  reforming  the  shiftless  character  of  the 
Sherwood  properties,  and  of  relieving  even  in  a  small 


204        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

degree  New  York's  housing  congestion,  appealed  at 
once  to  her  imagination  and  her  sensible  idealism. 

"A  splendid  plan!"  she  exclaimed,  regarding  Larry 
with  those  wise,  humorous  eyes  of  hers,  which  were  now 
very  serious  and  penetrating.  "You  have  been  working 
much  harder  than  I  had  thought.  And  if  you  will  pardon 
my  saying  it,  you  have  more  of  the  soundly  humane 
vision  which  big  business  enterprise  should  have  than  I 
had  thought." 

"Thank  you!"  said  Larry. 

"That's  a  splendid  dream,"  she  continued;  "but  it  will 
take  hard  work  to  translate  that  dream  into  a  reality. 
We  shall  need  architects,  builders,  a  heavy  initial  expense, 
time  —  and  a  more  modern  and  alert  management." 

"Yes,  Miss  Sherwood." 

She  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Her  penetrating  eyes, 
which  had  been  fixed  on  him  in  close  thought,  were  yet 
more  penetrating.  Finally  she  said : 

"That's  a  big  thing,  a  useful  thing.  The  present  agents 
wish  to  be  relieved  of  our  affairs  as  soon  as  I  can  make 
arrangements  —  and  I'd  like  nothing  better  than  for 
Dick  to  drop  what  he's  doing  and  get  into  something 
constructive  and  useful  like  this.  But  Dick  cannot  do  it 
alone;  he's  too  unsettled,  and  too  inexperienced  to  cope 
with  some  of  the  sharper  business  practices." 

She  paused  again,  still  regarding  him  with  those  keen 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  be  weighing  him.  Finally  she  said, 
almost  abruptly: 

"Will  you  take  charge  of  this  with  Dick?  He  likes  you 
and  respects  your  judgment;  I'm  sure  you'd  help  steady 
him  down.  Of  course  you  lack  practical  experience,  but 
you  can  take  in  a  practical  man  who  will  supply  this  ele- 
ment. Practical  experience  is  one  of  the  commonest 
articles  on  the  market;  vision  and  initiative  are  among 
the  rarest  —  and  you  have  them.  What  do  you  say?" 

Larry  could  not  say  anything  at  once.  The  suddenness 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        205 

of  her  offer,  the  largeness  of  his  opportunity,  bewildered 
him  for  the  moment.  And  his  bewilderment  was  added 
to  by  his  swift  realization  of  quite  another  element  in- 
volved in  her  frank  proposition.  He  was  now  engaged  in 
the  enterprise  of  foisting  a  bogus  article,  Maggie,  upon 
this  woman  who  was  offering  him  her  complete  confidence 
—  an  enterprise  of  most  questionable  ethics  and  very  du- 
bious issue.  If  he  accepted  her  offer,  and  the  result  of  this 
enterprise  were  disaster,  what  would  Miss  Sherwood  then 
think  of  him? 

He  took  refuge  in  evasion.  "I'm  not  going  to  try  to 
tell  you  how  much  I  appreciate  your  proposition,  Miss 
Sherwood.  But  do  you  mind  if  I  hold  back  my  answer 
for  the  present  and  think  it  over?  Anyhow,  to  do  all  that 
is  required  I  must  be  able  to  work  in  the  open  —  and  I 
can't  do  that  until  I  get  free  of  my  entanglements  with  the 
police  and  my  old  acquaintances." 

Thus  it  was  agreed  upon.  Miss  Sherwood  turned  to 
another  subject.  The  pre-public  show  of  Hunt's  pictures 
had  opened  the  previous  day. 

"When  you  were  in  the  city  yesterday,  did  you  get  in 
to  see  Mr.  Hunt's  exhibition?" 

"No,"  he  answered.  "Although  I  wanted  to.  But  you 
know  I've  already  seen  all  of  Mr.  Hunt's  pictures  that 
Mr.  Graham  has  in  his  gallery.  How  was  the  opening?" 

"Crowded  with  guests.  And  since  they  had  been  told 
that  the  pictures  were  unusual  and  good,  of  course  the 
people  were  enthusiastic." 

"What  kind  of  prices  was  Mr.  Graham  quoting?" 

"He  was  n't  quoting  any.  He  told  me  he  was  n't  going 
to  sell  a  picture,  or  even  mention  a  price,  until  the  public 
exhibition.  He's  very  enthusiastic.  He  thinks  Mr.  Hunt 
is  already  made  —  and  in  a  big  way." 

And  then  she  added,  her  level  gaze  very  steady  on  Larry : 

"Of  course  Mr.  Hunt  is  really  a  great  painter.  But  he 
needed  a  jolt  to  make  him  go  out  and  really  paint  his  own 


206        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

kind  of  stuff.  And  he  needed  some  one  like  you  to  put 
him  across  in  a  business  way." 

When  she  left,  she  left  Larry  thinking:  thinking  of  her 
saying  that  Hunt  "needed  a  jolt  to  make  him  go  out  and 
really  paint  his  own  kind  of  stuff."  Hidden  behind  that 
remark  somewhere  could  there  be  the  explanation  for 
the  break  between  these  two?  Larry  began  to  see  a  glim- 
mer of  Jight.  It  was  entirely  possible  that  Miss  Sherwood, 
in  so  finished  and  adroit  a  manner  that  Hunt  had  not  dis- 
cerned her  purpose,  had  herself  given  him  this  jolt  or  at 
least  contributed  to  its  force.  It  might  all  have  been 
diplomacy  on  her  part,  applied  shrewdly  to  the  man  she 
understood  and  loved.  Yes,  that  might  be  the  explana- 
tion. Yes,  perhaps  she  had  been  doing  in  a  less  trying  way 
just  what  he  was  seeking  to  do  under  more  stressful  cir- 
cumstances with  Maggie :  to  arouse  him  to  his  best  by  in- 
directly working  at  definite  psychological  reactions. 

That  afternoon  Hunt  appeared  at  Cedar  Crest,  and 
while  there  dropped  in  on  Larry.  The  big  painter,  in  his 
full-blooded,  boyish  fashion,  fairly  gasconaded  over  the 
success  of  his  exhibit.  Larry  smiled  at  the  other's  exuber- 
ant enthusiasm.  Hunt  was  one  man  who  could  boast  with- 
out ever  being  offensively  egotistical,  for  Hunt,  added  to 
his  other  gifts,  had  the  divine  gift  of  being  able  to  laugh  at 
himself. 

Larry  saw  here  an  opportunity  to  forward  that  other 
ambition  of  his:  the  bringing  of  Hunt  and  Miss  Sher- 
wood together.  And  at  this  instant  it  flashed  upon  him 
that  Miss  Sherwood's  seemingly  casual  remarks  about 
Hunt  had  not  been  casual  at  all.  Perhaps  they  had  been 
carefully  thought  out  and  spoken  with  a  definite  purpose. 
Perhaps  Miss  Sherwood  had  been  very  subtly  appointing 
him  her  ambassador.  She  was  clever  enough  for  that. 

"Stop  declaiming  those  self- written  press  notices  of 
your  unapproachable  superiority,"  Larry  interrupted. 
"If  you  use  your  breath  up  like  that  you'll  drown  on  dry 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        207 

land.  Besides,  I  just  heard  something  better  than  this 
mere  articulated  air  of  yours.  Better  because  from  a 
person  in  her  senses." 

"Heard  it  from  whom?" 

"Miss  Sherwood." 

"Miss  Sherwood!  What  did  she  say?" 

"That  you  were  a  really  great  painter." 

"Huh !"  snorted  Hunt.  "Why  should  n't  she  say  that? 
I've  proved  it!" 

"Hunt,"  said  Larry  evenly,  "you  are  the  greatest 
painter  I  ever  met,  but  you  also  have  the  distinction  of 
being  the  greatest  of  all  damned  fools." 

"What's  that,  young  fellow?" 

"You  love  Miss  Sherwood,  don't  you?  At  least  you  Ve 
the  same  as  told  me  that  in  words,  and  you've  told 
me  that  in  loud-voiced  actions  every  time  you  've  seen 
her." 

"Well  — what  if  I  do?" 

"If  you  had  the  clearness  of  vision  that  is  in  the 
glassy  eye  of  a  cold  boiled  lobster  you  would  see  that  she 
feels  the  same  way  about  you." 

"See  here,  Larry"  —  all  the  boisterous  quality  had 
gone  from  Hunt's  voice,  and  it  was  low-pitched  and  a  bit 
unsteady  —  "I  don't  mind  your  joshing  me  about  myself 
or  my  painting,  but  don't  fool  with  me  about  anything 
that's  really  important." 

"I'm  not  fooling  you.  I'm  sure  Miss  Sherwood  feels 
that  way." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I've  got  a  pair  of  eyes  that  don't  belong  to  a  cold 
boiled  lobster.  And  when  I  see  a  thing,  I  know  I  see  it." 

"You're  all  wrong,  Larry.  If  you'd  heard  what  she 
said  to  me  less  than  a  year  ago  — " 

"You  make  me  tired!"  interrupted  Larry.  "You  two 
were  made  for  each  other.  She's  waiting  for  you  to  step 
up  and  talk  man's  talk  to  her  —  and  instead  you  sulk  in 


208        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

your  tent  and  mumble  about  something  you  think  she 
might  have  thought  or  said  a  year  ago!  You  're  too  sensi- 
tive; you're  too  proud;  you've  got  too  few  brains.  It's 
a  million  dollars  to  one  that  in  your  handsome,  well-bred 
way  you  've  fallen  out  with  her  over  something  that  prob- 
ably never  existed  and  certainly  does  n't  exist  now.  For- 
get it  all,  and  walk  right  up  and  ask  her!" 

"Larry,  if  I  thought  there  was  a  chance  that  you  are 
right — " 

"A  single  question  will  prove  whether  I'm  right!" 

Hunt  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  "  I  guess  I  've  never 
seen  my  part  of  it  all  in  the  way  you  put  it,  Larry."  He 
stood  up,  his  whole  being  subdued  yet  tense.  "  I  'm  going 
to  slide  back  into  town  and  think  it  all  over." 

Larry  followed  him  an  hour  later,  bent  on  routine 
business  of  the  Sherwood  estate.  Toward  seven  o'clock 
he  was  studying  the  present  decrepitude  and  future  possi- 
bilities of  a  row  of  Sherwood  apartment  houses  on  the 
West  Side,  when,  as  he  came  out  of  one  building  and 
started  into  another,  a  firm  hand  fell  upon  his  shoulder 
and  a  voice  remarked: 

"So,  Larry,  you're  in  New  York?" 

Larry  whirled  about.  For  the  moment  he  felt  all  the  life 
go  out  of  him.  Beside  him  stood  Detective  Casey,  whom 
he  had  last  seen  on  the  night  of  his  wild  flight  when  Casey 
had  feigned  a  knockout  in  order  to  aid  Larry's  escape  from 
Ga vegan.  Any  other  man  affiliated  with  his  enemies  Larry 
would  have  struck  down  and  tried  to  break  away  from. 
But  not  Casey. 

"Hello,  Casey.  Well,  I  suppose  you're  going  to  invite 
me  to  go  along  with  you?" 

"Where  were  you  going?" 

"Into  this  house." 

"Then  I  '11  invite  myself  to  go  along  with  you." 

He  quickly  pushed  Larry  before  him  into  the  hallway, 
which  was  empty  since  all  the  tenants  were  at  their  din- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        209 

ner.  Larry  remembered  the  scene  down  in  Deputy  Police 
Commissioner  Barlow's  office,  when  the  Chief  of  Detec- 
tives had  demanded  that  he  become  a  stool-pigeon  work- 
ing under  Gavegan  and  Casey,  and  the  grilling  and  the 
threats,  more  than  fulfilled,  which  had  followed. 

"Going  to  give  me  a  little  private  quiz  first,  Casey," 
he  asked,  "and  then  call  in  Gavegan  and  lead  me  down  to 
Barlow?" 

"Not  unless  Gavegan  or  some  one  else  saw  and  recog- 
nized you,  which  I  know  they  did  n't  since  I  was  watch- 
ing for  that  very  thing.  And  not  unless  you  yourself  feel 
hungry  for  a  visit  to  Headquarters." 

"If  I  feel  hungry,  it's  an  appetite  I'm  willing  to  make 
wait." 

"You  know  I  don't  want  to  pinch  you.  My  part  in 
this  has  been  a  dirty  job  that  was  just  pushed  my  way. 
You  know  that  I  know  you  Ve  been  framed  and  double- 
crossed,  and  that  I  won't  run  you  in  unless  I  can't  get  out 
of  it.' 

"Thanks,  Casey.  You're  too  white  to  have  to  run 
with  people  like  Barlow  and  Gavegan.  But  if  it  was  n't 
to  pinch  me,  why  did  you  stop  me  out  there  in  the  street?  " 

"Been  hoping  I  might  some  day  run  into  you  on 
the  quiet.  There  are  some  things  I  Ve  learned  —  never 
mind  how  —  that  I  wanted  to  slip  you  for  your  own 
good." 

"Go  to  it,  Casey." 

"  First,  I  Ve  got  a  hunch  that  it  was  Barney  Palmer  who 
tipped  off  the  police  about  Red  Hannigan  and  Jack 
Rosenfeldt,  and  then  spread  it  among  all  the  crooks  that 
you  were  the  stool  and  squealer." 

"Yes,  I'd  guessed  that  much." 

"Second,  I've  got  a  hunch  that  it  really  was  from 
Barney  Palmer  that  Barlow  got  his  idea  of  making  you 
become  a  stool-pigeon.  Barney  is  a  smooth  one  all  right, 
and  he  figured  what  would  happen.  He  knew  you  would 


2io    '    CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

refuse,  and  he  knew  Barlow  would  uncork  hell  beneath 
you.  Barney  certainly  called  every  turn." 

"What  —  what — "  stammered  Larry.  "Why,  then 
Barney  must  be  — "  He  paused,  utterly  astounded  by 
the  newness  of  the  possibility  that  had  just  risen  in  his 
mind. 

"You've  got  it,  Larry,"  Casey  went  on.  "Barney  is  a 
police  stool.  Has  been  one  for  years.  Works  directly  for 
Barlow.  We  're  not  supposed  to  know  anything  about  it. 
He's  turned  up  a  lot  of  big  ones.  That's  why  it's  safe  for 
Barney  to  pull  off  anything  he  likes." 

"Barney  a  police  stool!"  Larry  repeated  in  the  stupor 
of  his  amazement. 

"Guess  that's  all  the  news  I  wanted  to  hand  you, 
Larry,  so  I'll  be  on  my  way.  Here's  wishing  you  luck — • 
and  for  God's  sake,  don't  let  yourself  be  pinched  by  us. 
So-long."  And  with  that  Casey  slipped  out  of  the  hall- 
way. 

For  a  moment  Larry  stood  moveless  where  Casey  had 
left  him.  Then  fierce  purpose,  and  a  cautious  reckless- 
ness, surged  up  and  took  mastery  of  him.  It  had  required 
what  Casey  had  told  him  to  end  his  irksome  waiting  and 
wavering.  No  longer  could  he  remain  in  his  hiding-place, 
safe  himself,  trying  to  save  Maggie  by  slow,  indirect  en- 
deavor. The  time  had  now  come  for  very  different 
methods.  The  time  had  come  to  step  forth  into  the  open, 
taking,  of  course,  no  unnecessary  risk,  and  to  have  it  out 
face  to  face  with  his  enemies,  who  were  also  Maggie's 
real  enemies,  though  she  counted  them  her  friends  —  to 
save  Maggie  against  her  own  will,  if  he  could  save  her  in 
no  other  way. 

And  having  so  decided,  Larry  walked  quickly  out  of 
the  hallway  into  the  street. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        211 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

ON  the  sidewalk  Larry  glanced  swiftly  around  him.  Half  a 
block  down  the  street  on  the  front  of  a  drug-store  was  a 
blue  telephone  flag.  A  minute  later  he  was  inside  a  tele- 
phone booth  in  the  drug-store,  asking  first  for  the  Hotel 
Grantham,  and  then  asking  the  Grantham  operator  to  be 
connected  with  Miss  Maggie  Cameron. 

There  was  a  long  wait.  While  he  listened  for  Maggie's 
voice  he  blazed  with  terrible  fury  against  Barney  Pal- 
mer. For  Maggie  to  be  connected  with  a  straight  crook, 
that  idea  had  been  bad  enough.  But  for  her  to  be  under 
the  influence  of  the  worst  crook  of  all,  a  stool,  a  cunning 
traitor  to  his  own  friends  —  that  was  more  than  could 
possibly  be  stood!  In  his  rage  in  Maggie's  behalf  he  for- 
got for  the  moment  the  many  evils  Barney  had  done  to 
himself.  He  thought  of  wild,  incoherent,  vaguely  tre- 
mendous plans.  First  he  would  get  Maggie  away  from 
Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  —  somehow.  Then  he  would 
square  accounts  with  those  two  —  again  by  an  undefined 
somehow. 

Presently  the  tired,  impersonal  voice  of  the  Grantham 
operator  remarked  against  his  ear-drum:  "Miss  Cameron 
don't  answer." 

"Have  her  paged,  please,"  he  requested. 

Larry,  of  course,  could  not  know  that  his  telephone 
call  was  the  very  one  which  had  rung  hi  Maggie's  room 
while  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  were  with  her,  and  which 
Barney  had  harshly  forbidden  her  to  answer.  Therefore 
he  could  not  know  that  any  attempt  to  get  Maggie  by 
telephone  just  then  was  futile. 

When  he  came  out  of  the  booth,  the  impersonal  voice 
having  informed  him  that  Miss  Cameron  was  not  in,  it 
was  with  the  intention  of  calling  Maggie  up  between 
eight  and  nine  when  she  probably  would  have  returned 


212        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

from  dinner  where  he  judged  her  now  to  be.  He  knew  that 
Dick  Sherwood  had  no  engagement  with  her,  for  Dick 
was  to  be  out  at  Cedar  Crest  that  evening,  so  he  judged 
it  almost  certain  Maggie  would  be  at  home  and  alone 
later  on. 

Having  nothing  else  to  do  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  he 
thought  of  a  note  he  had  received  from  the  Duchess  in 
that  morning's  mail  asking  him  to  come  down  to  see  her 
when  he  was  next  in  town.  Thirty  minutes  later  he  was 
in  the  familiar  room  behind  the  pawnshop.  The  Duchess 
asked  him  if  he  had  eaten,  and  on  his  reply  that  he  had 
not  and  did  not  care  to,  instead  of  proceeding  to  the 
business  of  her  letter  she  mumbled  something  and  went 
into  the  pawnshop. 

She  left  Larry  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  now  that 
she  had  him  here  she  was  uncertain  what  she  should  say, 
and  how  far  she  should  go.  Unknown  to  either,  one 
thread  of  the  drama  of  Larry  and  Maggie  was  being  spun 
in  the  brain  and  heart  of  the  Duchess;  and  being  spun 
with  pain  to  her,  and  in  very  great  doubt.  True,  she  had 
definitely  decided,  for  Larry's  welfare,  that  the  facts 
about  Maggie's  parentage  should  never  be  known  from 
her  —  and  since  the  only  other  person  who  could  tell  the 
truth  was  Jimmie  Carlisle,  and  his  interests  were  all  ap- 
parently in  favor  of  silence,  then  it  followed  that  the 
truth  would  never  be  known  from  any  one.  But  having  so 
decided,  and  decided  definitely  and  finally,  the  Duchess 
had  proceeded  to  wonder  if  she  had  decided  wisely. 

Day  and  night  this  had  been  the  main  subject  of  her 
thought.  Could  she  be  wrong  in  her  estimate  of  Maggie's 
character,  and  what  she  might  turn  out  to  be?  Could  she 
be  wrong  in  her  belief  that,  given  enough  time,  Larry 
would  outgrow  his  infatuation  for  Maggie?  And  since 
she  was  in  such  doubt  about  these  two  points,  had  she  any 
right,  and  was  it  for  the  best,  to  suppress  a  fact  that  might 
so  gravely  influence  both  matters?  She  did  not  know. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       213 

What  she  wanted  was  whatever  was  best  for  Larry — and 
so  in  her  doubt  she  had  determined  to  talk  again  to  Larry, 
hoping  that  the  interview  might  in  some  way  replace  her 
uncertainty  with  stability  of  purpose. 

Presently  she  returned  to  the  inner  room,  and  in  her 
direct  way  and  using  the  fewest  possible  words,  which 
had  created  for  her  her  reputation  of  a  woman  who  never 
spoke  and  who  was  packed  with  strange  secrets,  she  asked 
Larry  what  he  had  done  concerning  Maggie.  He  told  her 
of  the  plan  he  had  evolved,  of  Maggie's  visit  to  Cedar 
Crest,  of  his  ignorance  of  Maggie's  reactions.  To  all  this 
his  grandmother  made  response  neither  by  word  nor  by 
change  of  expression.  He  then  went  on  to  tell  her  of  what 
he  had  just  learned  from  Casey  of  Barney's  maneuvering 
his  misfortunes. 

The  old  head  nodded.  "  Yes,. Barney 's  just  that  sort," 
she  said  in  her  flat  monotone. 

And  then  she  came  to  the  purpose  of  her  sending  for 
him.  "How  do  you  feel  about  Maggie  now?" 

"The  same  as  before." 

41  You  love  her?" 

"Yes  —  and  always  will,"  he  said  firmly. 

She  was  silent  once  more.  Then,  "What  are  you  going 
to  do  next?" 

"Break  things  up  between  her  and  Barney  and  her 
father.  Get  her  away  from  them." 

She  asked  no  further  questions.  Larry  was  as  settled 
as  a  man  could  be.  But  was  Maggie  worth  while?  — 
that  was  the  great  question  still  unanswered. 

"Just  what  did  you  want  me  for,  grandmother?"  he 
asked  her  finally. 

"Something  which  I  thought  might  have  developed, 
but  which  has  n't." 

And  so  she  let  him  go  away  without  telling  him.  And 
wishing  to  shape  things  for  the  best  for  him,  she  was 
troubled  by  the  same  doubts  as  before. 


2I4        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

His  visit  with  his  grandmother  had  had  no  meaning  to 
Larry,  since  he  had  no  guess  of  the  struggle  going  on  with- 
in that  ancient,  inscrutable  figure.  The  visit  had  for  him 
merely  served  to  fill  in  a  nervous,  useless  hour.  His  rage 
against  Barney  had  all  the  while  possessed  him  too  thor- 
oughly for  him  to  give  more  than  the  mere  surface  of 
his  mind  to  what  had  passed  between  his  grandmother 
and  himself.  And  when  he  had  left  her,  his  rage  at 
Barney's  treachery  and  his  impetuous  desire  to  snatch 
Maggie  away  from  her  present  influences,  so  stormed 
within  him  that  his  usually  cautious  judgment  was  blown 
away  and  recklessness  swept  like  a  gale  into  control  of 
him. 

When  he  called  up  the  Grantham  a  second  time,  at 
nine  o'clock,  Maggie's  voice  came  to  him: 

"Hello.  Who  is  this,  please?" 

"Mr.  Brandon." 

He  heard  a  stifled  "Oh!"  at  the  other  end  of  the  line. 
"I'm  coming  right  up  to  see  you,"  he  said. 

"I  —  I  don't  think  you  — " 

"I'll  be  there  hi  ten  minutes,"  Larry  interrupted  the 
startled  voice,  and  hung  up. 

He  counted  that  Maggie,  after  his  sparing  her  at  Cedar 
Crest,  would  receive  him  and  treat  him  at  least  no  worse 
than  an  enemy  with  whom  there  was  a  half-hour's  truce. 
Sure  enough,  when  he  rang  the  bell  of  her  suite,  Maggie 
herself  admitted  him  to  her  sitting-room.  She  was  taut 
and  pale,  her  look  neither  friendly  nor  unfriendly. 

"Don't  you  know  the  risk  you're  running,"  she  whis- 
pered when  the  door  was  closed  —  "coming  here  like  this, 
in  the  open?" 

"The  time  has  come  for  risks,  Maggie,"  he  announced. 

"But  you  were  safe  enough  where  you  were.  Why  take 
such  risks?" 

"For  your  sake." 

"My  sake?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        215 

"To  take  you  away  from  these  people  you're  tied  up 
with.  Take  you  away  now." 

At  an  earlier  time  this  would  have  been  a  fuse  to  a  de- 
tonation of  defiance  from  her.  But  now  she  said  nothing 
at  all,  and  that  was  something. 

"Since  I  Ve  come  out  into  the  open,  everything 's  going 
to  be  in  the  open.  Listen,  Maggie!"  The  impulse  had 
suddenly  come  upon  him,  since  his  plan  to  awaken  Maggie 
by  her  psychological  reactions  had  apparently  failed,  to 
tell  her  everything.  "Listen,  Maggie!  I 'm  going  to  lay 
all  my  cards  on  the  table,  and  show  you  every  card  I  Ve 
played.  You  were  invited  to  come  out  to  Cedar  Crest  be- 
cause I  schemed  to  have  you  come.  And  the  reason  I 
schemed  to  have  you  invited  was,  I  reasoned  that  being 
received  in  such  a  frank,  generous,  unsuspecting  way,  by 
a  woman  like  Miss  Sherwood,  would  make  you  sick  of 
what  you  were  doing  and  you  would  drop  it  of  your  own 
accord.  But  it  seems  I  reasoned  wrong." 

"So  —  you  were  behind  that!"  she  breathed. 

"I  was.  Though  I  could  n't  have  done  it  if  Dick  Sher- 
wood had  n't  been  honestly  infatuated  with  you.  But  now 
I  'm  through  with  working  under  cover,  through  with  in- 
direct methods.  From  now  on  every  play 's  in  the  open, 
and  it's  straight  to  the  point  with  everything.  So  get 
ready.  I  'm  going  to  take  you  away  from  Barney  and  Old 
Jimmie." 

The  mention  of  these  two  names  had  a  swift  and  magical 
effect  upon  her.  But  instead  of  arousing  belligerency, 
they  aroused  an  almost  frantic  agitation. 

"You  must  leave  at  once,  Larry.  Barney  and  my 
father  were  here  before  dinner,  and  they've  just  tele- 
phoned they  were  coming  back!" 

"Coming  back!  That's  the  best  argument  you  could 
make  for  my  staying!" 

"But,  Larry  —  they  both  have  keys,  and  Barney  al- 
ways carries  a  gun!" 


216        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

11 1  stay  here,  unless  you  leave  with  me.  Listen  to  some 
more,  Maggie.  I  laid  all  the  cards  on  the  table.  Do  you 
know  the  kind  of  people  you  're  tied  up  with?  I  '11  not  say 
anything  about  your  father,  for  I  guess  you  know  all  there 
is  to  know.  But  Barney  Palmer!  He 's  the  lowest  kind  of 
crook  that  breathes.  There's  been  a  lot  of  talk  about 
squealers  and  police  stools.  Well,  the  big  squealer,  the  big 
stool,  is  Barney  Palmer!" 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  she  cried  involuntarily. 

"It's  true!  I've  got  it  straight.  Barney  wanted  to 
smash  me,  because  I  'd  made  up  my  mind  to  quit  the  old 
game  and  because  he  wanted  to  get  me  out  of  his  way  with 
you.  So  he  framed  it  up  so  that  I  appeared  to  be  a 
squealer,  and  started  the  gangmen  after  me.  And  he  put 
Barlow  up  to  the  idea  of  forcing  me  to  be  a  stool,  and  then 
framing  me  when  I  refused.  It  was  Barney  who  fixed 
things  so  I  had  to  go  to  jail,  or  be  shot  up,  or  run  away. 
It  was  Barney  Palmer  who  squealed  on  Red  Hannigan  and 
Jack  Rosenfeldt,  and  who's  been  squealing  on  his  other 
pals.  And  that 's  the  sort  you  're  stringing  along  with ! " 

She  gazed  at  him  in  appalled  half  conviction.  He  re- 
mained silent  to  let  his  truth  sink  in. 

They  were  standing  so,  face  to  face,  when  a  key  grated 
in  the  outer  door  of  the  little  hallway  as  on  the  occasion  of 
Larry's  first  visit  here.  And  as  on  that  occasion,  Maggie 
sprang  swiftly  forward  and  shot  home  the  bolt  of  the 
inner  door.  Then  she  turned  and  caught  Larry's  arm. 

"It's  Barney  —  I  told  you  he  was  coming!"  she 
whispered.  "Oh,  why  didn't  you  go  before?  Come 
on!" 

She  tried  to  drag  him  toward  her  bedroom  door, 
through  which  she  had  once  helped  him  escape.  But  this 
time  he  was  not  to  be  moved. 

"I  stay  right  here,"  he  said  to  her. 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  futile  effort  to  turn  the  lock 
of  the  inner  door;  then  Barney's  voice  called  out: 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        217 

"What's  the  matter,  Maggie?  Open  the  door." 

Maggie,  still  clutching  Larry's  resisting  arm,  stood 
gasping  in  wide-eyed  consternation. 

"Open  the  door  for  them,  Maggie,"  Larry  whispered. 

"I'll  not  do  it!"  she  whispered  back. 

"Open  it,  or  I  will,"  he  ordered. 

Their  gazes  held  a  moment  longer  while  Barney 
rattled  at  the  lock.  Then  slowly,  falteringly,  her  amazed 
eyes  over  her  shoulder  upon  him,  Maggie  crossed  and  un- 
locked the  door.  Barney  entered,  Old  Jimmie  just  be- 
hind him. 

"  I  say,  Maggie,  what  was  the  big  idea  in  keeping  us  — " 
he  was  beginning  in  a  grumbling  tone,  when  he  saw 
Larry  just  beyond  her.  His  complaint  broke  off  in  mid- 
breath  ;  he  stopped  short  and  his  dark  face  twitched  with 
his  surprise. 

"Larry  Brainard!"  he  finally  exclaimed.  Old  Jimmie, 
suddenly  tense,  blinked  and  said  nothing. 

"Hello,  Barney;  hello,  Jimmie,"  Larry  greeted  his 
former  allies,  putting  on  an  air  of  geniality.  "Been  a 
long  time  since  we  three  met.  Don't  stand  there  in  the 
door.  Come  right  in." 

Barney  was  keen  enough  to  see,  though  Larry's  atti- 
tude was  careless  and  his  tone  light,  that  his  eyes  were 
bright  and  hard.  Barney  moved  forward  a  couple  of 
paces,  alert  for  anything,  and  Old  Jimmie  followed. 
Maggie  looked  on  at  the  three  men,  her  girlish  figure  taut 
and  hardly  breathing. 

"Did  n't  know  you  were  in  New  York,"  said  Barney. 

"Well,  here  I  am  all  right,"  returned  Larry  with  his 
menacing  cheerfulness. 

By  now  Barney  had  recovered  from  his  first  surprise. 
He  felt  it  time  to  assert  his  supremacy. 

"How  do  you  come  to  be  here  with  Maggie?"  he  de- 
manded abruptly. 

"Happened  to  catch  sight  of  her  on  the  street  to-day. 


218        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Trailed  her  here  to  the  Grantham,  and  to-night  I  just 
dropped  in." 

Barney's  tone  grew  more  authoritative,  more  ugly. 
"We  told  you  long  ago  we  were  through  with  you.  So 
why  did  you  come  here?" 

"That's  easy  answered,  Barney.  The  last  time  we 
were  all  together,  you  'd  come  to  take  Maggie  away.  This 
is  that  same  scene  reproduced  —  only  this  time  /  've 
come  to  take  Maggie  away." 

"What's  that?"  snapped  Barney. 

Larry's  voice  threw  off  its  assumed  geniality,  and  be- 
came drivingly  hard.  "And  to  get  Maggie  to  come,  I  've 
been  telling  her  the  kind  of  a  bird  you  are,  Barney 
Palmer!  Oh,  I've  got  the  straight  dope  on  you!  I've 
been  telling  her  how  you  framed  me,  and  were  able  to 
frame  me  because  you  are  Chief  Barlow's  stool." 

Barney  went  as  near  white  as  it  was  possible  for  him 
to  become,  and  his  mouth  sagged.  "What  —  what  —  " 
he  stammered. 

"I've  been  telling  her  that  you  are  the  one  who  really 
squealed  on  Red  Hannigan  and  Jack  Rosenfeldt." 

"You're  a  damned  liar!"  Barney  burst  out,  and  in- 
stantly from  beneath  his  left  arm  he  whipped  an  auto- 
matic which  he  thrust  against  Larry's  stomach.  "Take 
that  back,  damn  you,  or  I'll  blow  you  straight  to  hell!" 

"Barney!  —  Larry!"  interjected  Maggie  in  sickened 
fright. 

"This  is  nothing  to  worry  over,  Maggie,"  Larry  said. 
He  looked  back  at  Barney.  "Oh,  I  knew  you  would 
flash  a  gun  on  me  at  some  stage  of  the  game.  But  you  're 
not  going  to  shoot." 

"You'll  see,  if  you  don't  take  that  back!" 

Larry  realized  that  his  hot  blood  had  driven  him  into 
an  enterprise  of  daring,  in  which  only  bluff  and  the  play- 
ing of  his  highest  cards  could  help  him  through. 

"You  don't  think  I  was  such  a  fool  as  to  walk  into  this 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        219 

place  without  taking  precautions,"  he  said  contemptu- 
ously. "You  won't  shoot,  Barney,  because  since  I  knew 
I  might  meet  you  and  you'd  pull  a  gun,  I  had  myself 
searched  by  two  friends  just  before  I  came  up  here. 
They'll  testify  I  was  not  armed.  They  know  you,  and 
know  you  so  well  that  they'll  be  able  to  identify  the 
thing  in  your  hand  as  your  gun.  So  no  matter  what 
Maggie  and  Jimmie  may  testify,  the  verdict  will  be  cold- 
blooded murder  and  the  electric  chair  will  be  your 
finish.  And  that's  why  I  know  you  won't  shoot.  So 
you  might  as  well  put  the  gun  away." 

Barney  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

"I've  called  your  bluff,  Barney,"  Larry  said  sharply. 
"Put  that  gun  away,  or  I'll  take  it  from  you!" 

Barney's  glare  wavered.  The  pistol  sank  from  its 
position.  With  a  lightning-swift  motion  Larry  wrenched 
it  from  Barney's  hand. 

"Guess  I'd  better  have  it,  after  all,"  he  said,  slipping 
it  into  a  pocket.  "Keep  you  out  of  temptation." 

And  then  in  a  subdued  voice  that  was  steely  with 
menace:  " I'm  too  busy  to  attend  to  you  now,  Barney  — 
but,  by  God,  I  'm  going  to  square  things  with  you  for  the 
dirt  you  Ve  done  me,  and  I  'm  going  to  show  you  up  for  a 
stool  and  a  squealer ! "  He  wheeled  on  Old  Jimmie.  "And 
the  only  reason  I'll  be  easy  with  you,  Jimmie  Carlisle,  is 
because  you  are  Maggie's  father  —  though  you're  the 
rottenest  thing  as  a  father  God  ever  let  breathe!" 

Old  Jimmie  shrank  slightly  before  Larry's  glower,  and 
his  little  eyes  gleamed  with  the  fear  of  a  rat  that  is 
cornered.  But  he  said  nothing. 

Larry  turned  his  back  upon  the  two  men.  "We're 
through  with  this  bunch,  Maggie.  Put  on  a  hat  and  a 
wrap,  and  let's  go.  We  can  send  for  your  things." 

"No  you  don't,  Maggie,"  snarled  Barney,  before 
Maggie  could  speak. 

Old  Jimmie  made  his  first  positive  motion  since  enter- 


220        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

ing  the  room.  He  shifted  quickly  to  Maggie's  side  and 
seized  her  arm. 

"You're  my  daughter,  and  you  stay  with  me!"  he 
ordered.  "I  brought  you  up,  and  you  do  exactly  what  I 
tell  you  to !  You  're  not  going  with  Larry  —  he 's  lying 
about  Barney.  You  stay  with  me!" 

"Come  on,  let's  go,  Maggie,"  repeated  Larry. 

"You  stay  with  me!"  repeated  Jimmie. 

Thus  ordered  and  appealed  to,  Maggie  was  areel  with 
contradicting  thoughts  and  impulses  while  the  three  men 
awaited  her  action.  In  fact  she  had  no  clear  thought  at 
all.  She  never  knew  later  what  determined  her  course  at 
this  bewildered  moment:  perhaps  it  was  partly  a  con- 
tinuance of  her  doubt  of  Larry,  perhaps  partly  once  more 
sheer  momentum,  perhaps  her  instinctive  feeling  that 
her  place  was  with  the  man  she  believed  to  be  her  father. 

"Yes,  I'll  stay  with  you,"  she  said  to  Old  Jimmie. 

"That's  the  signal  for  you  to  be  on  your  way,  Larry 
Brainard!"  Barney  snapped  at  him  triumphantly. 

Larry  realized,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  his  coming  here 
was  no  more  than  a  splendid  gesture  to  which  his  anger 
had  excited  him.  Indeed  there  was  nothing  for  him  but 
to  be  on  his  way. 

"I've  told  you  the  truth,  Maggie;  and  you'll  be  sorry 
that  you  have  not  left  —  if  not  sorry  soon,  then  sorry  a 
little  later." 

He  turned  to  Barney  with  a  last  shot;  he  could  not 
leave  the  gloating  Barney  Palmer  his  unalloyed  triumph. 
"I  told  you  I  had  the  straight  dope  on  you,  Barney. 
Here 's  some  more  of  it.  I  know  exactly  what  your  game 
is,  and  I  know  exactly  who  your  sucker  is.  We'll  see  if 
you  put  it  over  —  you  squealer!  Good-night,  all." 

With  that  Larry  walked  out.  Old  Jimmie  regarded  his 
partner  with  suspicion. 

"How  about  that,  Barney  —  you  being  a  stool  and  a 
squealer?"  he  demanded. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        221 

"I  tell  you  it's  all  a  lie  —  a  damned  lie!"  cried  Barney 
with  feverish  emphasis. 

"I  hope  it  is!"  breathed  Old  Jimmie. 

This  was  a  subject  Barney  wanted  to  get  away  from. 
"Maggie,"  he  demanded,  "is  what  Larry  Brainard  said 
about  how  he  came  here  the  truth?  —  his  seeing  you  on 
the  street  and  then  following  you  here?" 

"How  do  I  know  where  he  first  saw  me?" 

"But  is  to-night  the  first  time  you've  seen  him?" 

"It  is." 

"Sure  you  haven't  been  seeing  him?"  demanded 
Barney's  quick  jealousy. 

"I  have  not." 

"Did  he  tell  you  where  he  came  from?  —  where  he 
hangs  out?" 

"No." 

Old  Jimmie  interrupted  this  cross-examination. 

"You're  wasting  good  time  asking  these  questions. 
Barney,  do  you  realize  the  cold  fact  that  it's  not  a  good 
thing  for  you,  nor  for  us,  for  Larry  Brainard  to  be  back 
in  New  York,  floating  around  as  he  pleases?" 

"  I  should  say  not ! "  Barney  saw  he  was  facing  a  sudden 
crisis,  and  in  the  need  for  quick  action  he  spoke  without 
thought  of  Maggie.  "We've  got  to  look  after  him  at 
once!" 

"Tell  the  bunch  he's  back,  and  let  them  take  care  of 
him?"  suggested  Old  Jimmie. 

Barney  considered  rapidly.  If  Larry  knew  of  his  ar- 
rangement with  the  police,  then  perhaps  his  secret  was 
beginning  to  leak  through  to  others.  He  decided  that 
for  the  present  it  would  be  wiser  to  keep  from  these  old 
friends  and  allies. 

"Not  the  bunch  —  the  police!"  he  said  inspiredly. 
"They're  after  him,  anyhow,  and  are  sore.  All  we've 
got  to  do  is  slip  them  word  —  they'll  do  the  rest!"  And 
then  with  the  sharper  emphasis  of  an  immediate  plan: 


222        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"We  don't  want  to  lose  a  minute.  I  know  where  Gavegan 
hangs  out  at  this  time  of  night.  Come  on!" 

With  a  bare  "Good-night"  to  Maggie  the  two  men 
hurried  forth  on  their  pressing  mission.  Left  to  herself, 
Maggie  sank  into  a  chair  and  wildly  considered  the 
many  elements  of  this  new  situation.  Presently  two 
thoughts  emerged  to  dominance:  Whether  Larry  was 
right  or  wrong,  he  had  risked  coming  out  of  his  safety  for 
her  sake  —  perhaps  had  risked  all  he  had  won  for  her 
sake.  And  now  the  police  were  to  be  set  after  him,  with 
that  Gavegan  heading  the  pack. 

Perhaps  the  further  thinking  Maggie  did  did  not  re- 
sult in  cool,  mature  wisdom  —  for  her  thoughts  were  the 
operations  of  a  panicky  mind.  Somehow  she  had  to  get 
warning  to  Larry  of  this  imminent  police  hunt !  Without 
doubt  Larry  would  return  to  Cedar  Crest  sometime  that 
night.  Word  should  be  sent  to  him  there.  A  letter  was 
too  uncertain  in  such  a  crisis.  Of  course  she  had  an 
invitation  to  go  to  Cedar  Crest  the  following  afternoon, 
and  she  might  warn  him  then  —  but  that  might  be  too 
late.  She  dared  not  telephone  or  telegraph  —  for  that 
might  somehow  direct  dangerous  attention  to  the  exact 
spot  where  Larry  was  hidden.  Also  she  had  an  instinct, 
operating  unconsciously  long  before  she  had  any  thought 
of  what  she  was  eventually  to  do,  not  to  let  Barney  or 
Old  Jimmie  find  out,  or  even  guess,  that  she  had  warned 
Larry  —  not  yet. 

There  seemed  nothing  that  she  herself  could  do.  Then 
she  thought  of  the  Duchess.  That  was  the  way  out!  The 
Duchess  would  know  some  way  in  which  to  get  Larry 
word. 

Five  minutes  later,  in  her  plainest  suit  and  hat,  Maggie 
in  a  taxicab  was  rolling  down  toward  the  Duchess's  — 
from  where,  only  a  few  months  back,  she  had  started 
forth  upon  her  great  career. 


CHILDREN,  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        223 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

OLD  JIMMIE  did  not  like  meeting  the  police  any  oftener 
than  a  meeting  was  forced  upon  him,  and  so  he  slipped 
away  and  allowed  Barney  Palmer  to  undertake  alone 
the  business  of  settling  Larry.  Barney  found  Gavegan 
exactly  where  he  had  counted:  lingering  over  his  late 
dinner  in  the  cafe  of  a  famous  Broadway  restaurant  —  a 
favorite  with  some  of  the  detectives  and  higher  officials  of 
the  Police  Department  —  in  which  cafe,  in  happier  days 
now  deeply  mourned,  Gavegan  had  had  all  the  exhila- 
ration he  wanted  to  drink  at  the  standing  invitation  of  the 
proprietor,  and  where  even  yet  on  occasion  a  bit  of  the 
old  exhilaration  was  brought  to  Gavegan's  table  in  a  cup 
or  served  him  in  a  room  above  to  which  he  had  had 
whispered  instructions  to  retire.  The  proprietor  had  in 
the  old  days  liked  to  stand  well  with  the  police;  and 
though  his  bar  was  now  devoted  to  legal  drinks  —  or  at 
least  obliging  Federal  officers  reported  it  to  be  —  he  still 
liked  to  stand  well  with  the  police. 

Gavegan  was  at  a  table  with  a  minor  producer  of 
musical  shows,  to  whom  Barney  had  been  of  occasional 
service  in  securing  the  predominant  essential  of  such 
music  —  namely,  shapely  young  women.  Barney  nodded 
to  Gavegan,  chatted  for  a  few  minutes  with  his  musical- 
comedy  friend,  during  which  he  gave  Gavegan  a  signal, 
then  crossed  to  the  once-crowded  bar,  now  sunk  to  iso- 
lation and  the  lowly  estate  of  soft  drinks,  and  ordered  a 
ginger  ale.  Not  until  then  did  he  notice  Barlow,  chief 
of  the  Detective  Bureau,  at  a  corner  table.  Barney  gave 
no  sign  of  recognition,  and  Barlow,  after  a  casual  glance 
at  him,  returned  to  his  food. 

Barney,  in  solitude  at  one  end  of  the  bar,  slowly  sipped 
with  a  sort  of  indignation  against  his  kickless  purchase. 
Presently  Gavegan  was  beside  him,  having  most  con- 


224       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

vincing  ill-luck  in  his  attempts  to  light  his  cigar  from  a 
box  of  splintering  safety  matches  which  stood  at  that 
end  of  the  bar. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  Gavegan  whispered  out  of  that 
corner  of  his  mouth  which  was  not  occupied  by  his  cigar. 
He  did  not  look  at  Barney. 

"Any  clue  to  Larry  Brainard  yet?"  Barney  whispered 
also  out  of  a  corner  of  his  mouth,  glass  at  his  lips.  Like- 
wise he  seemed  not  to  notice  the  man  beside  him. 

"Naw!  Still  out  West  somewhere.  Them  Chicago 
bums  could  n't  catch  a  crook  if  he  walked  along  State 
Street  with  a  sign-board  on  him!" 

"Saw  Larry  Brainard  to-night." 

Gavegan  had  difficulty  in  maintaining  his  attitude  of 
non-awareness  of  his  bar-mate. 

"Where?" 

"Right  here  in  New  York." 

"What!  Where 'd  you  see  him?" 

"Coming  out  of  the  Grantham." 

"When?" 

"Fifteen  minutes  ago." 

"Know  where  he  went  to?  —  where  he  hangs  out?  — 
know  anything  else?" 

"That 's  everything.  Thought  I  'd  better  slip  it  to  you 
as  quick  as  I  could." 

"This  time  that  bird '11  not  get  away!"  growled 
Gavegan,  still  in  a  whisper.  "Twenty-four  hours  and 
he '11  be  in  the  cooler!" 

Finally  Gavegan  managed  to  get  a  flame  from  one  of 
those  irritatingly  splintery  Swedish  matches  made  in 
Japan.  Cigar  alight  he  walked  over  to  Barlow's  table. 
He  conversed  with  his  Chief  a  moment  or  two,  then  went 
out.  After  a  minute  Barney  saw  Chief  Barlow  crossing 
toward  the  bar.  Barney  seemed  not  to  notice  this  move- 
ment. Barlow  likewise  paused  beside  him  to  light  a 
cigar;  and  from  the  side  of  the  Chief's  mouth  there  issued: 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       225 

"Room  613." 

Barlow  passed  on.  Presently  Barney  finished  the  dreary 
drudgery  of  drink  and  sauntered  out.  Five  minutes  later, 
having  exercised  the  proper  caution,  he  was  in  Room  613, 
and  the  door  was  locked. 

"What's  this  dope  you  just  handed  Gavegan  about 
Larry  Brainard?"  demanded  Barlow. 

Barney  gave  his  information  again,  but  this  time 
more  fully.  Of  course  he  omitted  all  mention  of  Maggie 
and  the  enterprise  which  Larry  had  sought  to  interrupt; 
it  was  part  of  the  tacit  understanding  between  these  two 
that  Barlow  should  have  no  knowledge  of  Barney's  pro- 
fessional doings,  unless  such  knowledge  should  be  forced 
upon  him  by  events  or  people  too  strong  to  be  ignored. 

"Did  Brainard  drop  any  clue  that  might  give  us  a 
lead  as  to  where  he's  hiding  out?" 

Barney  remembered  something  Larry  had  said  half  an 
hour  before,  which  he  had  considered  mere  boasting.  "  He 
said  he  knew  I  had  some  game  on,  and  he  said  he  knew 
who  the  sucker  was  I  was  planning  to  trim." 

"Did  he  say  who  the  sucker  was?" 

"No." 

"If  Larry  Brainard  really  did  know,  then  who  would 
he  be  having  in  mind?" 

Barney  hesitated;  but  he  perceived  that  this  was  a 
question  which  had  to  be  answered.  "Young  Dick 
Sherwood,  of  the  swell  Sherwood  family  —  you  know." 

Barlow  did  not  pursue  the  subject.  According  to  his 
arrangement  with  Barney,  the  latter's  private  activities 
were  none  of  his  business. 

"I'll  get  busy  with  the  drag-net;  we'll  land  Brainard 
this  time,"  said  Barlow.  And  then  with  a  grim  look  at 
Barney:  "But  Larry  Brainard 's  not  what  I  got  you  up 
here  to  talk  about,  Palmer.  I  wanted  to  talk  about  two 
words  to  you  —  and  say  'em  to  you  right  between  your 
eyes." 


226        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Go  ahead,  Chief." 

"First,  you  ain't  been  worth  a  damn  to  me  for  several 
months.  You  Ve  given  me  no  value  received  for  me  keep- 
ing my  men  off  of  you.  You  have  n't  turned  up  a  single 
thing." 

"Come,  now,  Chief — you're  forgetting  about  Red 
Hannigan  and  Jack  Rosenfeldt." 

"Chicken  feed!  They're  out  on  bail,  and  when  their 
cases  come  up,  they'll  beat  them!  Besides,  you  didn't 
give  me  that  tip  to  help  me;  you  gave  it  to  me  so  that 
you  could  fix  things  to  put  Larry  Brainard  in  bad  with 
all  his  old  friends.  You  did  that  to  help  yourself.  Shut 
up!  Don't  try  to  deny  it.  I  know!" 

Barney  did  not  attempt  denial.  Barlow  went  on: 

"And  the  second  thing  I  want  to  tell  you,  and  tell  you 
hard,  is  this:  You  gotta  turn  in  some  business!  The  easy 
way  you  Ve  been  going  makes  it  look  like  you  Ve  forgot 
I  Ve  got  hold  of  you  where  the  hair's  long.  Young  man, 
you'd  better  remember  that  I've  got  you  cold  for  that 
Gregory  stock  business  —  you  and  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle. 
Got  all  the  papers  in  a  safety-deposit  vault,  and  got  three 
witnesses  doing  stretches  in  Sing  Sing.  Keep  on  telling 
yourself  all  that !  and  keep  on  telling  yourself  that,  if  you 
don't  come  across,  some  day  soon  I  '11  suddenly  discover 
that  you  're  the  guilty  party  in  that  Gregory  affair,  and 
I  '11  bring  down  those  witnesses  I  Ve  got  cached  in  Sing 
Sing." 

Barney  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  He  knew  the 
bargain  he  had  made,  and  did  not  like  to  dwell  upon  the 
conditions  under  which  he  was  a  licensed  adventurer. 

"No  need  to  rag  me  like  this,  Chief,"  he  protested. 
"Sure  I  remember  all  you've  said.  And  you're  not  going 
to  have  cause  to  be  sore  much  longer.  There  '11  be  plenty 
doing." 

"See  that  there  is!  And  see  that  you  don't  pull  any 
raw  work.  And  see  that  you  don't  let  your  foot  slip.  For 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        227 

if  you  do,  you  know  what '11  happen  to  you.  Now  get 
out!" 

Barney  got  out,  again  protesting  that  he  would  not  be 
found  failing.  He  was  not  greatly  disturbed  by  what 
Barlow  had  said.  Every  so  often  there  had  to  be  just 
such  sessions,  and  every  so  often  Barlow  had  to  let  off 
just  such  steam. 

Barney's  errand  was  done.  The  police  of  the  city  were 
on  Larry's  trail  and  his  share  in  the  matter  was  and  would 
remain  unknown.  Thus  far  all  was  well.  He  had  no 
doubt  of  Larry's  early  capture,  now  that  he  was  back  in 
New  York,  and  now  that  the  whole  police  force  had  been 
promptly  warned  and  were  hotly  after  him,  and  now  that 
all  avenues  of  exit  would  instantly  be,  in  fact  by  this 
time  were,  under  surveillance  and  closed  against  him  — 
and  now  that  every  refuge  of  the  criminal  world  was 
only  a  trap  for  him.  No,  there  was  n't  a  doubt  of  Larry's 
early  capture.  There  could  n't  be.  And  once  Larry  was 
locked  up,  things  would  be  much  better.  Barlow  would 
see  that  Larry  did  n't  talk  undesirable  things,  or  at  least 
that  such  talk  was  not  heard.  It  was  n't  exactly  pleasant 
or  safe  having  Larry  at  large,  free  to  blurt  out  to  the 
wrong  persons  those  things  about  Barney's  being  a  stool 
and  a  squealer. 

Greatly  comforted,  though  eager  for  news  of  the  chase, 
Barney  started  on  his  evening's  routine  of  visiting  the 
gayer  restaurants.  Business  is  business,  and  a  man  suf- 
fers when  he  neglects  it.  True,  this  Was  a  neat  proposition 
which  he  had  in  hand ;  but  that  would  soon  be  cleaned 
up,  and  Businessman  Barney  desired  to  be  all  ready  to 
move  forward  into  further  enterprises. 

In  the  meanwhile  there  had  been  a  session  between 
Maggie  and  the  Duchess.  At  about  the  time  Barney  had 
whispered  his  unlipped  news  to  Gavegan,  Maggie,  breath- 
less with  her  frantic  haste  though  she  had  made  the 


228        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

journey  in  a  taxicab,  entered  the  familiar  room  behind 
the  pawnshop. 

"Good-evening,  Maggie."  The  voice  was  casual,  in- 
different, though  at  that  moment,  there  was  no  person 
that  the  Duchess,  pondering  her  problems,  more  wished 
to  see.  "Sit  down.  What's  the  matter?" 

"The  police  know  Larry  is  in  New  York  and  are  after 
him!" 

"How  do  you  know?" 

Rapidly  Maggie  told  of  the  happenings  in  her  sitting- 
room,  and  of  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  starting  out  to  warn 
Ga vegan.  The  Duchess  heard  every  word,  but  most  of 
her  faculties  were  concentrated  upon  a  reexamination  of 
Maggie  and  upon  those  questions  which  had  been  trou- 
bling her  all  evening  and  for  these  many  days.  Was  there 
good  in  Maggie?  Was  she  justified  in  longer  suppressing 
the  truth  of  Maggie's  parentage? 

"Why  are  you  telling  me  all  this?"  the  Duchess  asked, 
when  Maggie  had  finished  her  rapid  recital. 

"Why!  Is  n't  it  plain?  I  want  you  to  get  warning  to 
Larry  that  the  police  are  after  him!" 

"Why  not  do  it  yourself?" 

"I'm  going  out  where  he  is  to-morrow,  but  that  may 
be  too  late." 

Maggie  gave  her  other  reasons,  such  as  they  were.  The 
old  woman's  eyes  never  left  Maggie's  flushed  face,  and 
yet  never  showed  any  interest. 

"I  thought  you  were  tied  up  with  Barney  and  Old 
Jimmie,"  the  Duchess  commented.  "Why  are  you  going 
against  them  in  this,  and  trying  to  help  Larry?" 

"What's  the  difference  why  I'm  doing  it,"  Maggie 
cried  with  feverish  impatience,  "so  long  as  I  'm  trying  to 
help  him  out  of  this!" 

"Don't  you  realize,"  continued  the  calm  old  voice, 
"that  Larry  must  already  know,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
that  the  police  and  all  the  old  crowd  are  after  him?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        229 

"Perhaps  he  does,  and  perhaps  he  doesn't.  All  the 
same,  he  should  know  for  certain !  The  big  point  is,  will 
you  get  Larry  word?" 

A  moment  passed  and  the  Duchess  did  not  speak.  In 
fact  this  time  she  had  not  heard  Maggie,  so  intent  was 
she  in  trying  to  look  through  Maggie's  dark,  eager  eyes 
to  the  very  core  of  Maggie's  being. 

"Will  you  get  Larry  word?"  Maggie  repeated  impa- 
tiently. 

The  Duchess  came  out  of  her  study.  There  was  a 
sudden  thrill  within  her,  but  it  did  not  show  in  her  voice. 

"Yes." 

"At  once?" 

"  As  soon  as  telling  him  will  do  any  good.  And  now  you 
better  hurry  back  to  your  hotel,  if  you  don't  want  Barney 
and  Old  Jimmie  to  suspect  what  you've  been  up  to. 
Though  why  you  still  want  to  hang  on  to  that  pair,  know- 
ing what  they  are,  is  more  than  I  can  guess." 

She  stood  up.  "Wait  a  minute,"  she  said  as  Maggie 
started  for  the  door.  Maggie  turned  back,  and  for  an- 
other moment  the  Duchess  silently  peered  deep  into  Mag- 
gie's eyes.  Then  she  said  shortly,  almost  sharply:  "At 
your  age  I  was  twice  as  pretty  as  you  are  —  and  twice  as 
clever  —  and  I  played  much  the  same  game.  Look  what 
I  got  out  of  life!  .  .  .  Good-night."  And  abruptly  the 
Duchess  wheeled  about  and  mounted  the  stairway. 

Twenty  minutes  later  Maggie  was  back  at  the  Gran- 
tham,  her  absence  unobserved.  Though  palpitant  over 
Larry's  fate,  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  having  achieved 
with  Larry's  grandmother  what  she  had  set  forth  to 
achieve.  She  did  not  know,  could  not  know,  that  what 
she  had  accepted  as  her  achievement  was  inconsequen- 
tial compared  to  what  had  actually  been  achieved  by  her 
spontaneous  appearance  before  the  troubled  Duchess. 


23o        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

As  the  Duchess  had  gazed  into  Maggie's  excited,  im- 
ploring eyes,  it  had  been  borne  in  upon  her  carefully  judg- 
ing and  painfully  hesitant  mind  that  there  was  better 
than  a  fifty  per  cent  chance  that  Larry  was  right  in  his 
estimate  of  Maggie;  that  Maggie's  inclination  toward 
criminal  adventure,  her  supreme  self-confidence,  all  her 
bravado,  were  but  the  superficial  though  strong  tenden- 
cies developed  by  her  unfortunate  environment;  that 
within  that  cynical,  worldly  shell  there  were  the  vital  and 
plastic  makings  of  a  real  woman. 

And  so  the  long-troubled  Duchess,  who  to  her  acquaint- 
ances had  always  seemed  as  unemotional  as  the  dust- 
coated,  moth-eaten  parrot  which  stood  in  mummified 
aloofness  upon  her  safe,  had  made  a  momentous  decision 
that  had  sent  through  her  old  veins  the  thrilling  sap  of  a 
great  crisis,  a  great  suspense.  She  had  tried  to  guide  des- 
tiny. She  was  now  through  with  such  endeavor.  She 
had  no  right,  because  of  her  love  for  Larry,  to  withhold 
longer  the  facts  of  Maggie's  parentage.  She  was  now 
going  to  tell  the  truth,  and  let  events  work  out  as  they 
would. 

But  the  events  —  what  were  they  going  to  be? 

For  a  moment  the  Duchess  had  been  impelled  to  tell 
the  truth  straight  out  to  Maggie.  But  she  had  caught 
herself  in  time.  This  whole  affair  was  Larry's  affair,  and 
the  truth  belonged  to  him  to  be  used  as  he  saw  fit.  So 
when  she  had  told  Maggie  that  she  would  get  word  to 
Larry,  it  was  this  truth  which  she  had  had  in  mind,  and 
only  in  a  very  minor  way  the  news  which  Maggie  had 
brought. 

This  was,  of  course,  such  a  truth  as  could  be  safely  com- 
municated only  by  word  of  mouth.  The  Duchess  realized 
that  Larry  no  longer  dared  come  to  her,  and  that  there- 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        231 
* 

fore  she  must  manage  somehow  to  get  to  him.  And  get 
to  him  without  betraying  his  whereabouts. 

There  was  little  chance  that  the  police  would  search  her 
place  or  greatly  bother  her.  To  the  police  mind,  now  that 
Larry  was  aware  he  was  known  to  be  in  New  York,  the 
pawnshop  would  obviously  be  the  last  place  in  which  he 
would  seek  refuge  or  through  which  he  would  have  deal- 
ings. Nevertheless,  the  Duchess  deemed  it  wise  to  lose 
no  moment  and  to  neglect  no  possible  caution.  Therefore, 
while  Barney  was  still  with  Chief  Barlow  and  before  the 
general  order  regarding  Larry  had  more  than  reached  the 
various  police  stations,  the  Duchess,  in  cape,  hat,  and 
veil,  was  out  of  her  house.  A  block  up  the  street  lived  the 
owner  of  two  or  three  taxicabs,  concerning  whom  the 
Duchess,  who  was  almost  omniscient  in  her  own  world, 
knew  much  that  the  said  owner  ardently  desired  should  be 
known  no  further.  A  few  sentences  with  this  gentleman, 
and  fifteen  minutes  later,  huddled  back  in  the  darkened 
corner  of  a  taxicab,  she  rolled  over  the  Queensboro  Bridge 
out  upon  Long  Island  on  her  mission  of  releasing  a  fact 
whose  effect  she  could  not  foresee. 

An  hour  and  a  half  after  that  Larry  was  leading  her  to 
a  bench  in  the  scented  darkness  of  the  Sherwoods'  lawn. 
She  had  telephoned  "Mr.  Brandon"  from  a  drug-store 
booth  in  Flushing,  and  Larry  had  been  waiting  for  her 
near  the  entrance  to  Cedar  Crest. 

"What  brought  you  out  here  like  this,  grandmother?" 
Larry  whispered  in  amazement  as  he  sat  down  beside  her. 

"To  tell  you  that  the  police  are  after  you,"  she  whis- 
pered back. 

'  I  knew  that  already." 

'Yes,  I  knew  that  you  would." 

'But  how  did  you  find  out?" 

'Maggie  told  me." 

'Maggie!" 

'She  came  down  to  see  me,  told  me  what  had  just 


232        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

happened  at  her  place,  told  me  about  Barney  hurrying 
away  to  slip  the  news  to  that  Gavegan,  and  begged  me  to 
warn  you  at  once.  She  was  terribly  nervous  and  wrought 
up." 

"Maggie  did  that!"  he  breathed.  His  heart  leaped  at 
her  unexpected  concern  for  him.  "Maggie  did  that!" 
And  then:  "There  wasn't  any  need;  she  should  have 
known  that  I  would  know." 

"  It  was  rather  foolish  in  a  way  —  but  Maggie  was  too 
excited  to  use  cool  reason." 

His  grandmother  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  "Her 
losing  her  head  and  coming  shows  that  she  cares  for  you, 
Larry." 

He  could  make  no  response.  This  was  indeed  the 
clearest  evidence  Maggie  had  yet  given  that  possibly  she 
might  care. 

"Maggie  may  have  lost  her  head  in  her  excitement," 
he  managed  to  say;  "but,  grandmother,  there  was  no 
reason  for  you  to  lose  your  head  so  far  as  to  come  away 
out  here  to  tell  me  about  the  police." 

"I  didn't  come  away  out  here  to  tell  you  about  the 
police,"  she  replied.  "1  came  to  tell  you  something  else." 

"Yes?" 

"You're  sure  you  really  care  for  Maggie?" 

"I  told  you  that  when  I  was  down  to  see  you  this 
evening." 

Though  the  Duchess  had  decided,  the  desire  to  pro- 
tect Larry  remained  tenaciously  in  her  and  made  it  hard 
for  her  jealous  love  to  take  a  risk.  "You  're  sure  she  might 
turn  out  all  right  —  that  is,  under  better  influences?" 

"  I  'm  sure,  grandmother."  He  recalled  how  a  few  hours 
earlier  at  the  Grantham  the  demand  of  Old  Jimmie  that 
she  remain  with  him  had  seemed  the  force  that  had  con- 
trolled her  decision.  "There  would  be  no  doubt  of  it  if  it 
were  not  for  Old  Jimmie,  and  the  people  he's  kept  her 
among,  and  the  ideas  he 's  been  feeding  her  since  she  was 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        233 

a  baby.  I  don't  think  she  has  any  love  for  her  father;  but 
they  say  blood  is  mighty  thick,  and  I  guess  with  her 
it's  just  the  usual  instinct  of  a  child  to  stand  with  her 
father  and  do  what  he  says.  Yes,  if  she  were  not  held 
back  and  held  down  by  having  Old  Jimmie  for  a  father, 
I  'm  sure  she'd  be  all  right." 

The  Duchess  felt  that  the  moment  had  now  arrived  for 
her  to  unloose  her  secret.  But  despite  her  fixed  purpose  to 
tell,  her  words  had  to  be  forced  out,  and  were  halting, 
bald. 

'Jimmie  Carlisle  —  is  not  her  father." 

'What's  that?"  exclaimed  Larry. 

'Not  so  loud.  I  said  Jimmie  Carlisle  is  not  her  father." 

'Grandmother!" 

'Her  father  is  Joe  Ellison." 

'Grandmother!"  He  caught  her  hands.  "Why  — 
why  —  "  But  for  a  moment  his  utter  dumbfoundment 
paralyzed  his  speech.  "You're  —  you're  sure  of  that?" 
he  finally  got  out. 

"Yes."  She  went  on  and  told  of  how  her  suspicion 
had  been  aroused,  of  her  interview  with  Joe  Ellison  which 
had  transmuted  suspicion  into  certainty,  of  her  theory  of 
the  motives  which  had  actuated  Jimmie  Carlisle  in  so 
perverting  the  directions  of  the  man  who  had  held  Jimmie 
as  his  most  trusted  friend. 

Larry  was  fairly  stunned  by  this  recital  of  what  had 
been  done.  And  he  was  further  stunned  as  he  realized 
the  fullness  of  what  now  seemed  to  be  the  circumstances. 
"God,  think  of  it!"  he  breathed.  "Maggie  trying  to 
be  a  great  adventuress  because  she  was  brought  up  that 
way,  because  she  thinks  her  father  wants  her  to  be  that 
— and  having  never  a  guess  of  the  truth !  And  Joe  Ellison 
believing  that  his  daughter  is  a  nice,  simple  girl,  happily 
ignorant  of  the  life  he  tried  to  shield  her  from  —  and 
having  never  a  guess  of  the  truth !  What  a  situation !  And 
if  they  should  ever  find  out  — " 


234        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

He  broke  off,  appalled  by  the  power  and  magnitude  of 
what  he  vaguely  saw.  Presently  he  said  in  a  numbed, 
awed  voice: 

"They  should  know  the  truth.  But  how  are  they  to 
find  out?" 

"I'm  leaving  all  that  to  you,  Larry.  Maggie  and  Joe 
Ellison  are  your  affair.  It's  up  to  you  to  decide  what  you 
think  best  to  do." 

Larry  was  silent  for  several  moments.  "You've  known 
this  for  some  time,  grandmother?" 

"For  several  weeks." 

"Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  before?" 

"I  was  afraid  it  might  somehow  bring  you  closer  to 
Maggie,  and  I  did  n't  want  that,"  she  answered  honestly. 
"Now  I  think  a  little  better  of  Maggie.  And  you've 
proved  to  me  I  can  trust  a  great  deal  more  to  your  judg- 
ment. Yes,  I  guess  that's  the  chief  reason  I  've  come  out 
here  to  tell  you  this:  you've  proved  to  me  I've  got  to 
respect  your  judgment.  And  so  whatever  you  may  do  — 
about  Maggie  or  anything  else — will  be  all  right  with  me." 

She  did  not  wait  for  a  response,  but  stood  up.  Her 
voice  which  had  been  shot  through  with  emotion  these 
last  few  minutes  was  now  that  flat,  mechanical  monotone 
to  which  the  habitants  of  her  little  street  were  accus- 
tomed. 

"I  must  be  getting  back  to  the  city.  Good-night." 

He  started  to  accompany  her  to  her  car,  but  she  for- 
bade him,  saying  that  it  would  not  help  matters  to  have 
him  seen  and  possibly  recognized  by  the  taxi  cab  driver; 
and  so  she  went  out  of  the  grounds  alone.  Within  another 
hour  and  a  half  she  was  set  down  unobserved  in  a  dim 
side  street  in  Brooklyn.  Thence  she  made  her  way  on  foot 
to  the  Subway  and  rode  home.  If  the  police  had  noticed 
her  absence  and  should  question  her,  she  could  refuse  to 
answer,  or  say  that  she  had  been  visiting  late  with  a 
friend  in  Brooklyn. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       235 

Larry  sat  long  out  in  the  night  after  his  grandmother 
had  left  him.  What  should  he  do  with  this  amazing 
information  placed  at  his  disposal?  Tell  Joe  Ellison?  Or 
tell  Maggie?  Or  tell  both?  Or  himself  try  to  meet  Jimmie 
Carlisle  and  pay  that  traitor  to  Joe  Ellison  and  that  mal- 
former  of  Maggie  the  coin  he  had  earned? 

But  for  hours  the  situation  itself  was  still  too  bewilder- 
ing in  its  many  phases  for  Larry  to  give  concentrated 
thought  to  what  should  be  its  attempted  solution.  Not 
until  dawn  was  beginning  to  awaken  dully,  as  with  a  pro- 
tracted yawn,  out  of  the  shadowy  Sound,  was  he  able 
really  to  hold  his  mind  with  clearness  upon  the  problem  of 
what  use  he  should  make  of  these  facts  of  which  he  had 
been  appointed  guardian.  He  decided  against  telling  Joe 
Ellison  —  at  least  he  would  not  tell  him  yet.  He  recalled 
the  rumors  of  Joe  Ellison's  repressed  volcano  of  a  tem- 
per; if  Joe  Ellison  should  learn  how  he  had  been  de- 
frauded, all  the  man's  vital  forces  would  be  instantly 
transformed  into  destructive,  vengeful  rage  that  would 
spare  no  one  and  count  no  cost.  The  result  would  doubt- 
less be  tragedy,  with  no  one  greatly  served,  and  with  Joe 
very  likely  back  hi  prison.  If  he  himself  should  go  out  to 
give  Old  Jimmie  his  deserts,  his  action  would  be  just 
good  powder  wasted  —  it  likewise  would  serve  no  con- 
structive purpose.  Larry  realized  that  it  is  only  human 
nature  for  a  wronged  man  to  wish  for  and  attempt  revenge ; 
but  that  in  the  economy  of  life  revenge  has  no  value,  serves 
no  purpose;  that  it  usually  only  makes  a  bad  situation 
worse. 

A  tremendous  wrong  had  been  done  here,  a  wrong  which 
showed  a  malignant,  cunning,  patient  mind.  But  as 
Larry  finally  saw  the  matter,  the  point  for  first  considera- 
tion was  not  the  valueless  satisfaction  of  making  the  guilty 
man  suffer,  but  was  to  try  to  restore  to  the  victims  some 
part  of  those  precious  things  of  which  they  had  been  un- 
consciously robbed. 


236       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

And  then  Larry  had  what  seemed  to  him  an  inspira- 
tion :  his  inspiration  being  only  a  sane  thought,  and  what 
the  Duchess,  though  she  had  not  pointed  the  way  to  him, 
had  thought  he  would  do.  Maggie  was  the  important 
person  in  this  situation!  —  Maggie  whose  life  was  just 
beginning,  and  whose  nature  he  still  believed  to  be  plas- 
tic! Not  Joe  Ellison  or  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle,  who  had  al- 
most lived  out  their  lives  and  whose  natures  were  now 
settled  into  what  they  would  be  until  the  end.  By  play- 
ing upon  the  finer  elements  in  Maggie's  character  he  had 
all  but  succeeded  in  rousing  to  dominance  that  best  na- 
ture which  existed  within  her.  He  would  privately  tell 
Maggie  the  truth,  and  tell  only  her  and  leave  the  using 
of  that  knowledge  to  her  alone.  The  shock  of  that 
knowledge,  the  effect  of  its  revelations  upon  her,  to- 
gether with  the  responsibility  of  what  she  should  do  with 
this  information,  might  be  just  the  final  forces  necessary 
to  make  Maggie  break  away  from  all  that  she  had  been 
and  swing  over  to  all  that  he  believed  she  might  be. 

Yes,  that  was  the  thing  to  do!  And  he  would  do  it 
within  the  next  twelve  hours;  for  Dick  had  told  him  that 
Maggie  was  coming  out  again  to  Cedar  Crest  on  the  af- 
ternoon of  the  day  which  was  now  rousing  from  its  sleep. 
That  is,  he  would  do  it  if  the  police  or  the  allies  of  his  one- 
time friends  did  not  locate  him  before  Maggie  came.  But 
of  that  he  had  no  serious  fear;  he  knew  he  had  made  a 
clean  get-away  from  the  Grantham,  and  that  the  shrewd 
Duchess  had  left  no  scent  by  which  those  bloodhounds  of 
the  Police  Department  could  trail  her. 

Larry  did  not  even  try  to  sleep ;  he  knew  it  would  be  of 
no  avail.  Back  in  his  own  room  he  sat  going  over  the  situ- 
ation, and  his  decision.  He  tingled  with  the  sense  of  the 
tremendous  power  which  had  been  delivered  into  his 
hands.  Yes,  tremendous!  But  what  were  going  to  be 
Maggie's  reactions  the  moment  he  told  her?  —  just  what 
would  be  her  course  after  she  knew  the  truth? 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       237 


CHAPTER  XXX 

LARRY  undressed,  had  a  bath,  shaved,  dressed  again,  and 
started  to  work.  But  that  day  the  most  Larry  did  was  ab- 
stractedly going  through  the  motions  of  work.  He  was 
completely  filled  with  the  situation  and  its  many  questions, 
and  with  the  suspense  of  waiting  for  Maggie  to  come  and 
of  how  he  was  going  to  manage  to  see  her  privately. 

The  meeting,  however,  proved  no  difficulty;  for  Maggie, 
who  arrived  at  four,  had  come  primarily  on  Larry's  ac- 
count and  she  herself  maneuvered  the  encounter.  While 
they  were  on  the  piazza,  Dick  having  gone  into  the  house 
for  a  fresh  supply  of  cigarettes,  and  Miss  Sherwood  being 
in  an  animated  discussion  with  Hunt,  Maggie  said : 

"Miss  Sherwood,  I've  never  had  a  real  look  down  at 
the  Sound  from  the  edge  of  your  bluff.  Do  you  mind  if 
Mr.  Brandon  shows  me?" 

"Not  at  all.  Tea  won't  be  served  for  half  an  hour,  so 
take  your  time.  Have  Mr.  Brandon  show  you  the  view 
from  just  the  other  side  of  that  old  rose-bench;  that's  the 
best  view." 

They  walked  away  chatting  mechanically  until  they 
were  in  a  garden  seat  behind  the  rose-bench.  The  rose- 
bench  was  a  rather  sorry  affair,  for  it  had  been  set  out  in 
this  exposed  place  by  a  former  gardener  who  had  for- 
gotten that  the  direct  winds  from  the  Sound  are  malgra- 
cious  to  roses.  However,  it  screened  the  two,  and  was 
far  enough  removed  so  that  ordinary  tones  would  not 
carry  to  the  house. 

"  Did  your  grandmother  get  you  word  about  the  police?  " 
Maggie  asked  with  suppressed  excitement  as  soon  as  they 
were  seated. 

"Yes.   She  came  out  here  about  midnight." 

"Then  why,  while  you  still  had  time,  did  n't  you  get 
farther  away  from  New  York  than  this?" 


238  ...  CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"If  I'm  to  be  caught,  I'm  to  be  caught;  in  the  mean- 
time, this  is  as  safe  a  place  as  any  other  for  me.  Besides, 
I  wanted  to  have  at  least  one  more  talk  with  you  — 
after  something  new  grandmother  told  me  about  you." 

"Something  new  about  me?"  echoed  Maggie,  startled 
by  his  grave  tone.  "What?" 

"About  your  father,"  he  said,  watching  closely  for  the 
effect  upon  her  of  his  revelations. 

"What  about  my  father?  What's  he  been  doing  that 
I  don't  know  about?" 

"You  do  not  know  a  single  thing  that  your  father  has 
done." 

"What!" 

"Because  you  do  not  know  who  your  father  is." 

"What!"  she  gasped. 

"Listen,  Maggie.  What  I'm  going  to  tell  you  may 
seem  unbelievable,  but  you've  got  to  believe  it,  because 
it's  the  truth.  I  can  see  that  you  have  proofs  if  you  want 
proofs.  But  you  can  accept  what  I  tell  you  as  absolute 
facts.  You  are  by  birth  a  very  different  person  from 
what  you  believe  yourself.  Your  father  is  not  Jimmie 
Carlisle.  And  your  mother — " 

"Larry!"  She  tensely  gripped  his  arm. 

"Your  mother  was  of  a  good  family.  I  imagine  some- 
thing like  Miss  Sherwood's  kind  —  though  not  so  rich 
and  not  having  such  social  standing.  She  died  when  you 
were  born.  She  never  knew  what  your  father's  business 
actually  was;  he  passed  for  a  country  gentleman.  He  was 
about  the  smoothest  and  biggest  crook  of  his  time,  and 
a  straight  crook  if  there  is  such  a  thing." 

"Larry!"  she  breathed. 

"He  kept  this  gentleman-farmer  side  of  his  life  and  his 
marriage  entirely  hidden  from  his  crook  acquaintances; 
that  is,  from  all  except  one  whom  he  trusted  as  his  most 
loyal  friend.  Before  you  were  old  enough  to  remember,  he 
was  tripped  up  and  sent  away  on  a  twenty-year  sentence." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       239 

"And  he's  —  he's  still  in  prison?"  whispered  Maggie. 

Larry  did  not  heed  the  interruption.  "He  had  de- 
veloped the  highest  kind  of  ambition  for  you.  He  wanted 
you  to  grow  up  a  fine  simple  woman  like  your  mother  — 
something  like  Miss  Sherwood.  He  did  not  want  you 
ever  to  know  the  sort  of  life  he  had  known ;  and  he  did  not 
want  you  to  be  handicapped  by  the  knowledge  that  you 
had  a  crook  for  a  father.  He  still  had  intact  your  mother's 
fortune,  a  small  one,  but  an  honest  one.  So  he  put  you 
and  the  money  in  the  hands  of  his  trusted  friend,  with 
the  instructions  that  you  were  to  be  brought  up  as  the 
girls  of  the  nicest  families  are  brought  up,  and  believing 
yourself  an  orphan." 

"That  friend  of  his,  Larry?"  she  whispered  tensely. 

"Jimmie  Carlisle." 

"O— oh!" 

"I  don't  know  what  Jimmie  Carlisle's  motives  were 
for  what  he  has  done.  Perhaps  to  get  your  money,  per- 
haps some  grudge  against  your  father,  which  he  was 
afraid  to  show  while  your  father  was  free,  for  your  father 
was  always  his  master.  But  Old  Jimmie  has  brought  you 
up  exactly  contrary  to  the  orders  he  received.  If  revenge 
was  Old  Jimmie's  motive,  his  cunning,  cowardly  brain 
could  not  have  conceived  a  more  diabolical  revenge,  one 
that  would  hurt  your  father  more.  Till  a  few  years  ago, 
when  word  was  sent  to  your  father  that  Old  Jimmie  was 
dead,  Jimmie  regularly  wrote  your  father  about  the  suc- 
cess of  his  plan,  about  how  splendidly  you  were  developing 
and  getting  on  with  the  best  people.  And  your  father  — 
I  knew  him  in  prison  —  now  believes  you  have  grown  up 
into  exactly  the  kind  of  young  woman  he  planned." 

"Larry!"  she  choked  in  a  numbed  voice.    "Larry!" 

"Your  father  is  now  as  happy  as  it  is  possible  for  him 
to  be,  for  he  has  lived  for  years  and  still  lives  in  the  belief 
that  his  great  dream,  the  only  big  thing  left  for  him  to  do, 
has  come  to  pass :  that  somewhere  out  in  the  world  is  his 


24o        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

daughter,  grown  into  a  nice,  simple,  wholesome  young 
woman,  with  a  clean,  wholesome  life  before  her.  And 
though  she  is  the  one  thing  in  all  the  world  to  him,  he 
never  intends  to  see  her  again  for  fear  that  his  seeing  her 
might  somehow  result  in  an  accident  that  would  destroy  her 
happy  ignorance.  Maggie,  can  you  conceive  the  tremen- 
dous meaning  to  your  father  of  what  he  believes  he  has 
created?  And  can  you  conceive  the  tremendous  difference 
between  the  dream  he  lives  upon,  and  the  reality?" 

She  was  white,  staring,  wilted.  For  once  all  the  defi- 
ance, self-confidence,  bravado,  melted  out  of  her,  and  she 
was  just  an  appalled  and  frightened  young  girl. 

After  a  moment  she  managed  to  repeat  the  question 
Larry  had  ignored:  "Is  my  real  father  —  still  in  prison?" 

"You'd  like  to  see  your  real  father?"  he  asked  her. 

"I  think  —  I'd  like  to  have  a  glimpse  of  him,"  she 
breathed. 

Larry,  just  before  this,  had  noted  Joe  Ellison  in  his 
blue  overalls  and  wide  straw  hat  cleaning  out  a  bank  of 
young  dahlias  a  distance  up  the  bluff.  He  now  took 
Maggie's  arm  and  guided  her  in  that  direction. 

"See  that  man  there  working  among  the  dahlias?  — 
the  man  who  once  brought  you  a  bunch  of  roses?  Joe 
Ellison  is  his  name.  He's  the  man  I've  been  talking 
about  —  your  father." 

He  felt  her  quivering  under  his  hand  for  a  moment, 
and  heard  her  breath  come  in  swift,  spasmodic  pants. 
He  was  wondering  what  was  the  effect  upon  her  of  this 
climax  of  his  revelation,  when  she  whispered: 

"Do  you  suppose  —  I  can  speak  —  to  my  father?" 

"Of  course.  He  likes  all  young  women.  And  I  told 
you  that  he  and  I  were  close  friends." 

"Then  —  come  on."  She  arose,  clinging  to  him,  and 
drew  him  after  her.  Halfway  to  Joe  she  breathed:  "You 
please  say  something  first.  Anything." 

He  recognized  this  as  the  appeal  of  one  whose  faculties 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       241 

were  reeling.  There  had  never  been  any  attempt  here 
at  Cedar  Crest  to  conceal  Joe  Ellison's  past,  and  in 
Larry's  case  there  had  been  only  such  concealment  as 
might  help  his  evasion  of  his  dangers.  And  so  Larry 
remarked  as  Joe  Ellison  took  his  wide  hat  off  his  white 
hair  and  stood  bareheaded  before  them: 

"Joe,  Miss  Cameron  knows  who  I  really  am,  and  about 
my  having  been  in  Sing  Sing;  and  I  Ve  just  told  her  about 
our  having  been  friends  there.  Also  I  told  her  about  your 
having  a  daughter.  It  interested  her  and  she  asked  me 
if  she  could  n't  talk  to  you,  so  I  brought  her  over." 

Larry  stood  aside  and  tensely  watched  this  meeting 
between  father  and  daughter.  Joe  bowed  slightly,  and 
with  a  dignified  grace  that  overalls  and  over  fifteen  years 
of  prison  could  not  take  from  one  who  during  his  early 
and  middle  manhood  had  been  known  as  the  perfection 
of  the  finished  gentleman.  His  gray  eyes  warmed  with 
appreciation  of  the  young  figure  before  him,  just  as  Larry 
had  seen  them  grow  bright  watching  the  young  figures 
disporting  in  the  Sound. 

"  It  is  very  gracious  for  a  young  woman  like  you,  Miss 
Cameron,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  grave  courtesy,  "to  be 
interested  enough  in  an  old  man  like  me  to  want  to  talk 
with  him." 

Maggie  made  the  supreme  effort  of  her  life  to  keep  her- 
self in  hand.  "I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  because  of  some- 
thing Mr.  Brainard  told  me  about  —  about  your  having 
a  daughter." 

Larry  felt  that  this  was  too  sacred  a  scene  for  him  to 
intrude  upon.  "Would  you  mind  excusing  me,"  he  said; 
"there  are  some  calculations  I  Ve  got  to  rush  out "  —  and 
he  returned  to  the  bench  on  which  they  had  been  sitting 
and  pretended  to  busy  himself  over  a  pocket  notebook. 

While  Larry  had  been  speaking  and  moving  away, 
Maggie  had  swiftly  been  appraising  her  father.  His  gray 
eyes  were  direct  as  against  the  furtiveness  of  Jimmie's; 


242        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

his  mouth  had  a  firm  kindliness  as  against  the  wrmkled 
cunning  of  Jimmie's;  his  bearing  was  erect,  self-possessed, 
as  against  Jimmie's  bent,  shuffling  carriage.  Maggie  felt 
no  swift-born  daughter  love  for  this  stranger  who  was  her 
father.  The  turmoil  of  her  discovery  filled  her  too  com- 
pletely to  admit  a  full-grown  affection ;  but  she  thrilled 
with  the  sense  of  the  vast  difference  between  her  supposed 
father  and  this  her  real  father. 

In  the  meantime  her  father  had  spoken.  Joe  would 
have  been  more  reserved  with  men  or  with  older  women ; 
but  with  this  girl,  so  much  the  sort  of  girl  he  had  long 
dreamed  about,  his  reserve  vanished  without  resistance, 
and  in  its  place  was  a  desire  to  talk  to  this  beautiful 
creature  who  came  out  of  the  world  which  the  big  white 
house  represented. 

" I  have  a  daughter,  yes,"  he  said.  "But  Larry  —  Mr. 
Brainard  perhaps  I  should  say  —  has  likely  told  you 
all  there  is  to  tell." 

"I'd  like  to  hear  it  from  you,  please  —  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"There's  really  not  much  to  tell,"  he  said.  "You  know 
what  I  was  and  what  happened.  When  I  went  to  prison 
my  daughter  was  too  young  to  remember  me  —  less  than 
two  years  old.  I  did  n't  want  her  ever  to  be  drawn  into 
the  sort  of  life  that  had  been  mine,  or  be  the  sort  of 
woman  that  a  girl  becomes  who  gets  into  that  life.  And  I 
did  n't  want  her  ever  to  have  the  stigma,  and  the  handi- 
cap, of  her  knowing  and  the  world  knowing  that  her 
father  was  a  convict.  You  can't  understand  it  fully,  Miss 
Cameron,  but  perhaps  you  can  understand  a  little  how 
disgraced  you  would  feel,  what  a  handicap  it  would  be, 
if  your  father  were  a  convict.  I  had  a  good  friend  I  could 
trust.  So  I  turned  my  daughter  over  to  him,  to  be 
brought  up  with  no  knowledge  of  my  existence,  and  with 
every  reasonable  advantage  that  a  nice  girl  should  have. 
I  guess  that's  all,  Miss  Cameron." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        243 

"This  friend  —  what  was  his  name?" 

"  Carlisle  —  Jimmie  Carlisle.  But  his  name  could  never 
have  meant  anything  to  you.  Besides,  he's  dead  now." 

Maggie  forced  herself  on.  "Your  plan  —  it  turned  out 
all  right?  And  you  —  you  are  happy?" 

"Yes."  In  the  sympathetic  atmosphere  which  this 
young  girl's  presence  created  for  him,  Joe's  emotions 
flowed  into  words  more  freely  than  ever  before  in  the 
company  of  a  human  being.  Though  he  was  answering 
her,  what  he  was  really  doing  was  rather  just  letting  his 
heart  use  its  long-silent  voice,  speak  its  exultant  dream 
and  belief. 

'  "Somewhere  out  in  the  world  —  I  don't  know  where, 
and  I  don't  want  to  know  —  my  daughter  has  now  grown 
into  a  wholesome,  splendid  young  woman!"  he  said  in  a 
vibrant  voice.  Brooding  in  solitude  so  long  upon  his 
careful  plan  that  he  believed  could  not  fail,  had  made  the 
keen  Joe  Ellison  less  suspicious  concerning  it  than  he 
otherwise  would  have  been  —  perhaps  had  made  him  a 
bit  daffy  on  this  one  subject.  "  I  have  saved  my  daughter 
from  all  the  grime  she  might  have  known,  and  which 
might  have  soiled  her,  and  even  pulled  her  down  if  I 
had  n't  thought  out  in  good  time  my  plan  to  protect  her. 
And  of  course  I  am  happy!"  he  exulted.  "I  have  done 
the  best  thing  that  it  was  possible  for  me  to  do,  the  thing 
which  I  wanted  most  to  do !  Instead  of  what  she  might 
have  been,  I  have  as  a  daughter  just  such  a  nice  girl  as 
you  are  —  just  about  your  own  age  —  though,  of  course, 
she  hasn't  your  money,  your  social  position,  and  nat- 
urally not  quite  the  advantages  you  have  had.  Of  course 
I'm  happy!" 

"You're  —  you're  sure  she's  all  that?" 

Again  his  words  were  as  much  a  statement  aloud  to 
himself  of  his  constant  dream  as  they  were  a  direct 
answer  to  Maggie.  "Of  course!  There  was  enough 
money  —  the  plan  was  in  the  hands  of  a  friend  who  knew 


244        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

how  to  handle  such  a  thing  —  she 's  never  known  any- 
thing but  the  very  best  surroundings — and  until  she  was 
fourteen  I  had  regular  reports  on  how  wonderfully  she  was 
progressing.  You  see  my  friend  had  had  her  legally 
adopted  by  a  splendid  family,  so  there 's  no  doubt  about 
everything  being  for  the  best." 

"And  you"  —  Maggie  drove  herself  on  —  "don't  you 
ever  want  to  see  her?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  But  at  the  very  beginning  I  fixed 
things  so  I  could  not;  so  that  I  would  not  even  know 
where  she  is.  Removed  temptation  from  myself,  you  see. 
Don't  you  see  the  possible  results  if  I  should  try  to  see  her? 
.Something  might  happen  that  would  bring  out  the  truth, 
and  that  would  ruin  her  happiness,  her  career.  Don't  you 
see?" 

His  gray  eyes,  bright  with  his  great  dream,  were  fixed 
intently  upon  Maggie;  and  yet  she  felt  that  they  were 
gazing  far  beyond  her  at  some  other  girl  ...  at  his  girl. 

"I  —  I — "  she  gulped  and  swayed  and  would  have 
fallen  if  he  had  not  been  quick  to  catch  her  arm. 

"You  are  sick,  Miss?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"I  —  I  have  been,"  she  stammered,  trying  to  regain 
control  of  her  faculties.  " It's  —  it's  that  —  and  my  not 
eating  —  and  standing  in  this  hot  sun.  Thank  you  very 
much  for  what  you  Ve  told  me.  I  'd  —  I  'd  better  be 
getting  back." 

"I'll  help  you."  And  very  gently,  with  a  firm  hand 
under  one  arm,  he  escorted  her  to  the  bench  where  Larry 
sat  scribbling  nothings.  He  then  raised  his  hat  and  re- 
turned to  his  dahlias. 

"Well?"  queried  Larry  when  they  were  alone. 

"  I  can't  stand  it  to  stay  here  and  talk  to  these  people," 
she  replied  in  an  agonized  whisper.  "I  must  get  away 
from  here  quick,  so  that  I  can  think." 

"May  I  come  with  you?" 

"No,  Larry  —  I  must  be  alone.  Please,  Larry,  please 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        245 

get  into  the  house,  and  manage  to  fake  a  telephone 
message  for  me,  calling  me  back  to  New  York  at  once." 

"All  right."  And  Larry  hurried  away.  She  sat,  pale, 
breathing  rapidly,  her  whole  being  clenched,  staring  fix- 
edly out  at  the  Sound.  Five  minutes  later  Larry  was  back. 

"It's  all  arranged,  Maggie.  I've  told  the  people; 
they're  sorry  you've  got  to  go.  And  Dick  is  getting  his 
car  ready." 

She  turned  her  eyes  upon  him.  He  had  never  seen  in 
them  such  a  look.  They  were  feverish,  with  a  dazed, 
affrighted  horror.  She  clutched  his  arm. 

"You  must  promise  never  to  tell  my  father  about  me!" 

"I  won't.  Unless  I  have  to." 

"But  you  must  not!  Never!"  she  cried  desperately. 
"  He  thinks  I  'm  —  Oh,  don't  you  understand?  If  he  were 
to  learn  what  I  really  am,  it  would  kill  him.  He  must 
keep  his  dream.  For  his  sake  he  must  never  find  out,  he 
must  keep  on  thinking  of  me  just  the  same.  Now,  you 
understand?" 

Larry  slowly  nodded. 

Her  next  words  were  dully  vibrant  with  stricken  awe. 
"And  it  means  that  I  can  never  have  him  for  my  father! 
Never!  And  I  think  —  I'd  —  I'd  like  him  for  a  father! 
Don't  you  see?" 

Again  Larry  nodded.  In  this  entirely  new  phase  of  her, 
a  white-faced,  stricken,  shivering  girl,  Larry  felt  a  poign- 
ant sympathy  for  her  the  like  of  which  had  never  tingled 
through  him  in  her  conquering  moods.  Indeed  Maggie's 
situation  was  opening  out  into  great  human  problems 
such  as  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  had  ever  foreseen ! 

"There  comes  Dick,"  she  whispered.  "I  must  do  my 
best  to  hold  myself  together.  Good-bye,  Larry." 

A  minute  later,  Larry  just  behind  her,  she  was  crossing 
the  lawn  on  Dick's  arm,  explaining  her  weakness  and 
pallor  by  the  sudden  dizziness  which  had  come  upon  her 
in  consequence  of  not  eating  and  of  being  in  the  hot  sun. 


B46        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

LARRY  was  far  more  deeply  moved  this  time  when  Maggie 
drove  away  with  Dick  than  on  that  former  occasion  when 
he  had  tried  to  play  with  adroitness  upon  her  psycholog- 
ical reactions.  Now  he  knew  that  her  very  world  was 
shaken;  that  her  soul  was  stunned  and  reeling;  that  she 
was  fighting  with  all  her  strength  for  a  brief  outward 
composure. 

He  had  loved  her  for  months,  but  he  had  never  so  loved 
her  as  in  this  hour  when  all  her  artificial  defenses  had  been 
battered  down  and  she  had  been  just  a  bewildered,  ago- 
nized girl,  with  just  the  emotions  and  first  thoughts  that 
any  other  normal  girl  would  have  had  under  the  same 
circumstances.  His  great  desire  had  been  to  be  with  her, 
to  comfort  her,  help  her;  but  he  realized  that  she  had 
been  correct  in  her  instinct  to  be  by  herself  for  a  while,  to 
try  to  comprehend  it  all,  to  try  to  think  her  way  out. 

When  Maggie  was  out  of  sight  he  excused  himself  from 
having  tea,  left  Hunt  and  Miss  Sherwood  upon  the 
veranda,  and  sought  his  study.  But  though  he  had 
neglected  his  work  the  whole  day,  he  now  gave  it  no 
attention.  He  sat  at  his  desk  and  thought  of  Maggie: 
tried  to  think  of  what  she  was  going  to  do.  Her  situation 
was  so  complicated  with  big  elements  which  she  would 
have  to  handle  that  he  could  not  foretell  just  what  her 
course  would  be.  It  was  a  terrific  situation  for  a  young 
woman,  who  was  after  all  just  a  very  young  girl,  to  face 
alone.  But  there  was  nothing  for  him  but  to  wait  for 
news  from  her.  And  she  had  not  said  even  that  she  would 
ever  let  him  hear. 

While  he  considered  these  matters  he  had  risen  and 
paced  the  room.  Once  he  had  paused  at  a  French  window 
which  opened  upon  a  side  veranda,  and  had  seen  below 
him  a  few  yards  away  Joe  Ellison,  whose  interest  in  his 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       247 

flowers  had  established  his  workday  from  sunrise  to  sun- 
set. Joe  Ellison  had  been  pulling  tiny  weeds  that  were  dar- 
ing to  attempt  to  get  a  start  in  a  rose-garden.  Larry's 
mind  had  halted  a  moment  upon  Joe.  Here  at  least  was  a 
contented  man:  one  who,  no  matter  what  happened, 
would  remain  in  ignorance  of  possibly  great  events  which 
would  intimately  concern  him.  Then  Larry  had  left  the 
window  and  had  returned  to  his  thoughts  of  Maggie. 

But  Larry's  thoughts  were  not  to  remain  exclusively 
with  Maggie  for  long.  Shortly  after  six  Judkins  entered  and 
announced  that  a  man  was  at  the  door  with  a  message. 
The  man  had  refused  to  come  in,  saying  he  was  only  a 
messenger  and  was  in  a  hurry;  and  had  refused  to  give 
Judkins  the  message,  saying  that  it  was  verbal.  Think- 
ing that  some  word  had  come  from  his  grandmother,  or 
possibly  even  from  Maggie,  Larry  went  out  upon  the  ve- 
randa. Waiting  for  him  was  a  nondescript  man  he  did  not 
know. 

"Mr.  Brandon,  sir?"  asked  the  man. 

"Yes.  You  have  a  message  for  me?" 

Before  the  man  could  reply,  there  came  a  shout  from  the 
shrubbery  beyond  the  drive : 

"Grab  him,  Smith!  He's  the  man!" 

Instantly  Smith's  steely  arms  were  about  Larry,  pin- 
ning his  elbows  to  his  sides,  and  a  man  broke  from  the 
shrubbery  and  hurried  toward  the  house.  Instinctively 
Larry  started  to  struggle,  but  he  ceased  as  he  recognized 
the  man  coming  up  the  steps.  It  was  Gavegan.  Larry 
realized  that  he  had  been  shrewdly  trapped,  that  resist- 
ance would  serve  no  end,  and  the  next  moment  handcuffs 
were  upon  his  wrists. 

"Well,  Brainard,"  gloated  Gavegan,  "we've  landed 
you  at  last!" 

"So  it  seems,  Gavegan." 

"You  thought  you  was  damned  clever,  but  I  guess  you 
know  now  you  ain't  one,  two,  three!" 


248       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Oh,  I  knew  how  clever  you  are,  Gavegan,"  Larry 
responded  dryly,  "and  that  you'd  get  me  sooner  or  later 
if  I  hung  around." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Larry's  capture,  which  was  as  un- 
spectacular as  his  escape  had  been  strenuous,  was  the 
consequence  of  no  cleverness  at  all.  Larry  had  said  to 
Barney  Palmer  the  night  before  that  he  knew  who  Bar- 
ney's sucker  was;  and  Barney  had  passed  this  information 
along  to  Chief  Barlow.  "Follow  every  clue;  luck  may  be 
with  you  and  one  of  the  clues  may  turn  up  what  you  want " : 
— this  is  in  substance  an  unwritten  rule  of  routine  proce- 
dure which  effects  those  magnificent  police  solutions 
which  are  presented  as  more  mysterious  than  the  original 
mystery  —  for  it  is  well  for  the  public  to  believe  that  its 
police  officers  are  unfailingly  more  clever  than  its  criminals. 
Barlow  had  done  some  routine  thinking:  if  Larry  Brainard 
knew  Dick  Sherwood  was  the  sucker,  then  watching  Dick 
Sherwood  might  possibly  reveal  the  whereabouts  of  Larry 
Brainard.  Barlow  had  passed  this  tip  along  to  Gavegan. 
Gavegan  had  grumbled  to  himself  that  it  was  only  a 
thousand  to  one  shot;  but  luck  had  been  with  him,  and  his 
long  shot  had  won. 

Miss  Sherwood,  Hunt  behind  her,  had  been  drawn  by 
the  sound  of  voices  around  to  the  side  of  the  veranda 
where  stood  the  four  men.  "What  are  you  doing?"  she 
now  sharply  demanded  of  Gavegan. 

"Don't  like  to  make  any  unpleasant  scene,  Miss  Sher- 
wood, but  I've  gotta  tell  you  that  this  so-called  Brandon 
is  a  well-known  crook."  Gavegan  enjoyed  few  things 
more  than  astounding  people  with  unpleasant  facts. 
"  His  real  name  is  Brainard ;  he 's  done  time,  and  now  he 's 
wanted  by  the  New  York  police  for  a  tough  job  he  pulled." 

"I  knew  all  that  long  ago,"  said  Miss  Sherwood. 

"Eh  —  what?"  stammered  Gavegan. 

"  Mr.  Brainard  told  me  all  that  the  first  time  I  saw  him." 

"Hello,  Gavegan,"  said  Hunt,  stepping  forward. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       249 

"Well,  I'll  be  —  if  you  ain't  that  crazy  — "  Again  the 
ability  to  express  himself  coherently  and  with  restraint 
failed  Ga vegan.  "If  you  ain't  that  painter  that  lived 
down  at  the  Duchess's!" 

"Right,  Ga  vegan  —  as  a  detective  always  should  be. 
And  Larry  Brainard  was  then,  and  is  now,  my  friend." 

Miss  Sherwood  again  spoke  up  sharply.  "Mr.  Gavegan 
— if  that  is  your  name  — you  will  please  take  those  foolish 
things  off  Mr.  Brainard's  wrists." 

Gavegan  had  been  cheated  out  of  creating  a  sensation. 
That  discomfiture  perhaps  made  him  even  more  dogged 
than  he  was  by  nature. 

"Sorry,  Miss,  but  he's  charged  with  having  committed 
a  crime  and  is  a  fugitive  from  justice,  and  I  can't." 

"I'll  be  his  security.  Take  them  off." 

"Sorry  to  refuse  you  again,  Miss.  But  he 's  a  dangerous 
man  —  got  away  once  before.  My  orders  is  to  take  no 
risks  that'll  give  him  another  chance  for  a  get-away." 

Miss  Sherwood  turned  to  Larry.  "  I  '11  go  into  town  with 
you,  and  so  will  Mr.  Hunt.  I  '11  see  that  you  get  bail  and  a 
good  lawyer." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Sherwood,"  Larry  said.  " Gavegan, 
I  guess  we  're  ready  to  start." 

"Not  just  yet,  Brainard.  Sorry,  Miss  Sherwood,  but 
we've  got  a  search  warrant  for  your  place.  We  just  want 
to  have  a  look  at  the  room  Brainard  used.  No  telling  what 
kind  of  crooked  stuff  he's  been  up  to.  And  to  make  the 
search  warrant  O.K.  I  had  it  issued  in  this  county  and 
brought  along  a  county  officer  to  serve  it.  Show  it  to  the 
lady,  Smith." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  see  it,  Mr.  Gavegan.  I  have  more 
interest  in  watching  you  while  you  go  through  my  things." 
And  giving  Gavegan  a  look  which  made  an  unaccustomed 
flush  run  up  that  officer's  thick  neck  and  redden  his  square 
face,  she  led  the  way  into  Larry's  study.  "This  is  the 
room  where  Mr.  Brainard  works,"  she  said.  "Through 


250       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

that  door  is  his  bedroom.  Everything  here  except  his 
clothing  is  my  property.  I  shall  hold  you  rigidly  responsi- 
ble for  any  disorder  you  may  create  or  any  damage  you 
may  do.  Now  you  may  go  ahead." 

"Let's  have  all  your  keys,  Brainard,"  Ga vegan  choked 
out. 

Larry  handed  them  over.  With  Miss  Sherwood,  Hunt, 
and  Larry  looking  silently  on,  the  two  men  began  their 
examination.  They  began  with  the  papers  on  Larry's 
desk  and  in  its  drawers;  and  in  all  his  life  Gavegan  had 
not  been  so  considerate  in  a  search  as  he  now  was  with 
Miss  Sherwood's  blue  eyes  coldly  upon  him.  They  un- 
locked cabinets,  scrutinized  their  contents,  shook  out 
books,  examined  the  backs  of  pictures,  took  up  rugs;  then 
passed  into  Larry's  bedroom.  Miss  Sherwood  made  no 
move  to  follow  the  officers  into  that  more  ultimate  apart- 
ment, and  the  other  two  watchers  remained  with  her. 

A  minute  passed.  Then  Gavegan  reentered,  a  puzzled, 
half-triumphant  look  on  his  red  face,  holding  out  a  square 
of  paint-covered  canvas. 

"Found  this  thing  in  Brainard's  chiffonier.  What  the 
he  —  I  mean  what's  it  doing  out  here?" 

There  was  not  an  instant's  doubt  as  to  what  the  thing 
was.  Larry  started,  and  Hunt  started,  and  Miss  Sherwood 
started.  But  it  was  Miss  Sherwood  who  first  spoke. 

"Why,  it's  a  portrait  of  Miss  Cameron,  in  costume! 
And  painted  by  Mr.  Hunt!"  In  amazement  she  turned 
first  upon  Larry  and  upon  Hunt.  "When  did  you  ever 
paint  her  portrait,  when  you  did  not  meet  Miss  Cameron 
till  you  met  her  here?  And,  Mr.  Brainard,  how  do  you 
come  to  possess  Miss  Cameron's  portrait?" 

It  was  Gavegan  who  spoke  up  promptly,  and  not  either 
of  the  two  suddenly  discomfited  men.  And  Gavegan  in- 
stantly sensed  in  the  situation  a  chance  to  get  even  for  the 
humiliation  his  self-esteem  had  just  suffered. 

"Miss  Cameron  nothing!   Her  real  name  is  Maggie 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       251 

Carlisle,  and  she  used  to  live  at  a  dump  of  a  pawnshop 
down  on  the  East  Side  run  by  Brainard's  grandmother. 
Brainard  knew  her  there,  and  so  did  Mr.  Hunt." 

"But — but — "  gasped  Miss  Sherwood — "she's  been 
coming  out  here  as  Maggie  Cameron!" 

"I  tell  you  your  Maggie  Cameron  is  Maggie  Carlisle!" 
said  Gavegan  gloatingly.  "I  've  known  her  for  years.  Her 
father  is  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle,  a  notorious  crook.  And  she 's 
mixed  up  right  now  with  her  father  and  some  others  in  a 
crooked  game.  And  Brainard  here  used  to  be  sweet  on 
her,  and  probably  still  is,  and  if  he 's  been  letting  her  come 
here,  without  telling  you  who  she  is  —  well,  I  guess  you 
know  the  answer.  Did  n't  I  tell  you,  Miss,  that  give  me 
a  chance  and  I'd  turn  up  something  against  this  guy 
Brainard!" 

Miss  Sherwood's  face  was  white,  but  set  with  grim 
accusation  that  was  only  waiting  to  pronounce  swift 
judgment.  "Mr.  Hunt,  is  it  true  that  Miss  Cameron  is 
this  Maggie  Carlisle  the  officer  mentions,  and  that  you 
knew  it  all  the  while?" 

"Yes — "  began  the  painter. 

"  Don't  blame  him,  Miss  Sherwood,"  Larry  interrupted. 
"He  did  n't  tell  you  because  I  begged  him  not  to  as  a  favor 
to  me.  Blame  me  for  everything." 

Her  judgment  upon  Hunt  was  pronounced  with  cold 
finality,  her  eyes  straight  into  Hunt's:  "Whatever  may 
have  been  Mr.  Hunt's  motives,  I  unalterably  hold  him  to 
blame." 

She  turned  upon  Larry.  The  face  which  he  had  only 
seen  in  gracious  moods  was  as  inflexibly  stern  as  a  prose- 
cuting attorney's. 

"We're  going  to  go  right  to  the  bottom  of  this, 
Mr.  Brainard.  You  too  have  known  all  along  that  this 
Miss  Cameron  was  really  the  Maggie  Carlisle  this  officer 
speaks  of?" 

"Yes." 


252        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"And  you  have  known  all  along  that  she  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  this  notorious  criminal,  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle?" 

The  impulse  surged  up  in  Larry  to  tell  the  newly  learned 
truth  about  Maggie.  But  he  remembered  Maggie's  in- 
junction that  the  truth  must  never  be  known.  He  checked 
his  revelation  just  in  time. 

"Yes." 

"And  is  it  true  that  Maggie  Carlisle  is  herself  what  is 
known  as  a  crook?  —  or  has  had  crooked  inclinations  or 
plans?" 

"It's  like  this,  Miss  Sherwood—" 

"A  direct  answer,  please!" 

"Yes." 

"And  is  it  true,  as  this  officer  has  suggested,  that  you 
were  in  love  with  her  yourself?" 

"Yes." 

"You  are  aware  of  my  brother's  infatuation  for  her? 
That  he  has  asked  her  to  marry  him?" 

"Yes." 

Her  voice  now  sounded  more  terrible  to  Larry.  "  I  took 
you  in  to  give  yqu  a  chance.  And  your  repayment  has 
been  that,  knowing  all  these  things,  you  have  kept  silent 
and  let  me  and  my  brother  be  imposed  upon  by  a  swin- 
dling operation.  And  who  knows,  since  you  admit  that 
you  love  the  girl,  that  you  have  not  been  a  partner  in  the 
conspiracy  from  the  first!" 
•  "That's  exactly  the  idea,  Miss!"  put  in  Gavegan. 

Larry  had  foreseen  many  possible  wrong  turns  which 
his  plan  might  take,  but  he  was  appalled  by  the  utter  un- 
expectedness of  the  actual  disaster.  And  yet  he  recognized 
that  the  evidence  justified  Miss  Sherwood's  judgment  of 
him.  It  all  made  him  seem  an  ingrate  and  a  swindler. 

For  the  moment  Larry  was  so  overwhelmed  that  he 
made  no  attempt  to  speak.  And  since  for  once  Gavegan 
was  content  merely  to  gloat  over  his  triumph,  there  was 
stiff  silence  in  the  room  until  Miss  Sherwood  said  in  the 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        253 

cold  voice  of  a  judge  after  a  jury  has  brought  in  a  verdict 
of  guilty: 

"Of  course,  if  you  think  there  is  anything  you  may  say 
for  yourself,  Mr.  Brainard,  you  now  have  the  chance  to 
say  it." 

"  I  have  much  to  say,  but  I  can't  blame  you  if  you  refuse 
to  believe  most  of  it,"  Larry  said  desperately,  fighting 
forwhat  seemed  his  last  chance.  "I  loved  Maggie  Carlisle. 
I  believed  she  had  splendid  qualities.  Only  she  was  domi- 
nated by  the  twisted  ideas  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle  had  planted 
in  her.  I  wanted  to  eradicate  those  twisted  ideas,  and 
make  her  good  qualities  her  ruling  ones.  But  she  did  n't 
believe  in  me.  She  thought  me  a  soft-head,  a  police  stool, 
a  squealer.  Then  I  had  to  disappear ;  you  know  all  about 
that.  Not  till  I  had  been  with  you  for  several  weeks  did  I 
learn  that  she  was  being  used  in  a  swindling  scheme  against 
Dick. 

"I  did  think  of  telling  you  or  Dick.  But  my  greatest 
interest  was  to  awaken  that  better  person  I  believed  to  be 
in  her ;  and  I  knew  that  the  certain  result  of  my  exposing 
her  to  you  would  be  for  me  to  lose  the  last  bit  of  influence 
I  had  with  her,  and  for  her  to  pass  right  on  to  another 
enterprise  of  similar  character.  So  the  idea  came  to  me 
that  if  I  did  n't  expose  her,  but  caused  her  to  be  received 
with  every  courtesy  by  her  intended  victims,  the  effect 
upon  her  would  be  that  she  would  feel  a  revulsion  for 
what  she  was  doing  and  she  would  come  to  her  best  senses. 
I  told  this  to  Mr.  Hunt ;  that 's  why  he  agreed  not  to  give 
her  away.  And  another  point,  though  frankly  this  was  not 
so  important  to  me :  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  good  hard  jolt 
might  be  just  what  was  needed  to  make  Dick  take  life 
more  seriously,  and  I  saw  in  this  affair  a  chance  for  Dick  to 
get  just  the  jolt  he  needed. 

"That's  all,  Miss  Sherwood.  Except  that  I  have  seen 
signs  which  make  me  believe  that  what  I  figured  would 
happen  to  Maggie  Carlisle  have  begun  to  happen  to  her." 


254       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Bunk!"  snorted  Gavegan. 

"  I  know  that  part  of  what  he  says  is  true,"  put  in  Hunt. 

Miss  Sherwood  ignored  Hunt  and  his  remark.  The  look 
of  controlled  wrath  which  she  held  upon  Larry  did  not 
change.  Larry  recognized  that  his  statement  had  sounded 
'  most  implausible.  Miss  Sherwood  in  her  indignation  con- 
sidered only  that  her  kindness  had  been  betrayed,  her 
hospitality  outraged,  and  that  those  she  had  accepted  as 
friends  had  sought  to  trick  her  family  in  the  worst  way 
she  could  conceive ;  and  she  spoke  accordingly. 

"  If  that  is  the  best  Mr.  Brainard  has  to  say  for  himself, 
Mr.  Gavegan,  you  may  take  him  with  you,  and  without 
any  interference  from  me.  I  ask  only  that  you  take  him 
out  of  the  house  at  once." 

With  that  she  moved  from  the  room,  not  looking  again 
at  either  Hunt  or  Larry.  For  a  brief  space  there  was 
silence,  .while  Gavegan  let  his  triumph  feed  gloatingly 
upon  the  sight  of  his  prisoner. 

This  brief  silence  was  broken  by  a  low,  strange  sound, 
like  a  human  cry  quickly  repressed,  that  seemed  to  come 
from  just  outside  the  French  windows. 

"What  was  that?"  Larry  asked  quickly. 

"I  did  n't  hear  anything,"  said  Gavegan  whose  senses 
had  been  thoroughly  concentrated  upon  his  triumph. 

"I  did,"  said  Hunt.   "On  the  veranda." 

"We'll  see.  Watch  him — "  to  the  county  officer; 
and  Gavegan  followed  Hunt  to  the  French  windows  and 
looked  out.  "  Noone  on  the  veranda, and  no  one  in  sight," 
he  reported.  "You  fellows  must  have  been  dreaming." 

He  returned  and  faced  Larry.  "I  guess  you'll  admit. 
Brainard,  that  I've  got  you  for  keeps  this  time." 

"Then  suppose  we  be  starting  for  Headquarters."  Larry 
responded. 

Hunt  moved  to  Larry's  side.  "  I  '11  just  trail  along  after 
you,  Larry.  Anyhow,  this  does  n't  seem  to  be  any  place 
for  me." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        255 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Larry  was  in  a  car  beside 
Gavegan,  speeding  away  from  Cedar  Crest  toward  the 
city.  Larry's  thoughts  were  the  gloomiest  he  had  enter- 
tained since  he  had  come  out  of  Sing  Sing  months  before 
with  his  great  dream.  All  that  he  had  counted  on  had 
gone  wrong.  He  was  in  the  hands  of  the  police,  and  he 
knew  how  hard  the  police  would  be.  He  had  incurred  the 
hostility  of  Miss  Sherwood  and  had  lost  what  had  seemed 
a  substantial  opportunity  to  start  his  career  as  an  honest 
man.  The  only  item  of  his  great  plan  in  which  he  did  not 
seem  to  have  failed  completely  was  Maggie.  And  he  did 
not  know  what  Maggie  was  going  to  do. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

WHEN  Maggie  drove  away  with  Dick  from  Cedar  Crest  — • 
this  was  an  hour  before  Gavegan  descended  out  of  the  blue 
upon  Larry  and  two  hours  before  he  rode  triumphantly 
away  with  his  captive  —  she  was  the  most  dazed  and  dis- 
illusioned young  creature  who  had  ever  set  out  confidently 
to  conquer  the  world.  Courage,  confidence,  quickness  of 
wit,  all  the  qualities  on  which  she  had  prided  herself,  were 
now  entirely  gone,  and  she  was  just  a  white,  limp  figure 
that  wanted  to  run  away :  a  weak  figure  in  which  swirled 
thoughts  almost  too  spasmodically  powerful  for  so 
weakened  a  vessel  not  to  be  shattered  under  their  wild 
strain :  thoughts  of  her  amazingly  discovered  real  father  — 
of  how  she  was  the  very  contradiction  of  her  father's 
dream  —  of  Larry  —  of  the  cunning  Jimmie  Carlisle  whom 
till  this  day  she  had  believed  her  father  —  of  Barney 
Palmer. 

So  agitated  was  she  with  these  gyrating  thoughts  that 
she  was  not  conscious  that  Dick  had  stopped  the  car  on  the 
green  roadside  until  he  had  taken  her  hand  and  had  begun 
to  speak.  The  happy,  garrulous,  unobservant  Dick  had 


256        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

not  noticed  anything  out  of  the  way  with  her  more  than 
a  pallor  which  she  had  explained  away  as  being  due  to 
nothing  more  than  a  bit  of  temporary  dizziness.  And  so 
for  the  second  time  Dick  now  poured  out  his  love  to  her 
and  asked  her  to  marry  him. 

"Don't,  Dick  —  please!"  she  interrupted  him.  "I 
can't  marry  you !  Never!" 

"What!"  cried  the  astounded  Dick.  "Maggie  —  why 
not?" 

"I  can't.  That 's  final.  And  don't  make  me  talk  to  you 
now,  Dick  —  please !  I  cannot ! " 

His  face,  so  fresh  and  happy  the  moment  before,  be- 
came gray  and  lined  with  pain.  But  he  silently  swung  the 
car  back  into  the  road. 

She  forgot  him  utterly  in  what  was  happening  within 
her.  As  they  rode  on,  she  forced  herself  to  think  of  what 
she  should  do.  She  saw  herself  as  the  victim  of  much, 
and  as  guilty  of  much.  And  then  inspiration  came  upon 
her,  or  perhaps  it  was  merely  a  high  frenzy  of  desperation, 
and  she  saw  that  the  responsibility  for  the  whole  situa- 
tion was  upon  her  alone;  she  saw  it  as  her  duty,  the  r61e 
assigned  her,  to  try  to  untangle  alone  this  tangled  situa- 
tion, to  try  to  measure  out  justice  to  every  one. 

First  of  all,  as  she  had  told  Larry,  her  father's  dream  of 
her  must  remain  unbroken.  Whatever  she  did,  she  must 
do  nothing  that  might  possibly  be  a  sharp  blow  to  the 
conception  of  his  daughter  which  were  the  roots  and  trunk 
and  flowering  branches  of  his  present  happiness.  .  .  .  And 
then  came  a  real  inspiration!  She  would,  in  time,  make 
herself  into  the  girl  he  believed  her  —  make  his  dream 
the  truth !  She  would  get  rid  of  Old  Jimmie  and  Barney 
—  would  cut  loose  from  everything  pertaining  to  her  for- 
mer life  —  would  disappear  and  live  for  a  year  or  two  in 
the  kind  of  environment  in  which  he  believed  he  had 
placed  her  —  and  would  reappear  and  claim  him  for  her 
father!  And  for  his  own  sake,  he  should  never  know  the 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       257 

truth.  Two  years  more  and  he  should  have  the  actuality, 
where  he  now  had  only  the  dream ! 

But  before  she  was  free  to  enter  upon  this  plan,  before 
she  could  vanish  out  of  the  knowledge  of  all  who  had 
known  her,  there  was  a  great  duty  to  Larry  Brainard 
which  she  must  discharge.  He  was  hunted  by  the  police, 
he  was  hunted  by  his  former  pals.  And  he  was  in  his  pre- 
dicament fundamentally  because  of  her.  Therefore,  it 
was  her  foremost  duty  to  clear  Larry  Brainard. 

Yes,  she  would  do  that  first!  Somehow! .  .  . 

She  was  considering  this  problem  of  how  she  was  to 
clear  Larry,  who  had  tried  to  awaken  her,  who  had 
shielded  her,  who  loved  her,  when  Dick  slowed  his  car 
down  in  front  of  the  Grantham  and  helped  her  out.  As  he 
said  a  subdued  good-bye  and  was  stepping  back  into  his 
car,  an  impulse  surged  up  into  her  —  an  impulse  of  this 
different  Maggie  whose  birth  was  being  attended  by  such 
bewildering  emotions  and  decisions. 

"  Dick,  won't  you  please  come  up  for  just  a  little  while?  " 

Three  minutes  later  they  were  in  her  sitting-room.  Cap 
in  hand  Dick  awaited  her  words  in  the  misery  of  silence. 
Her  look  was  drawn,  but  direct. 

"Back  in  the  road,  Dick,  you  asked  me  why  I  could  n't 
marry  you.  I  asked  you  up  here  to  tell  you." 

"Yes?"  he  queried  dully. 

"One  reason  is  that,  though  I  like  you,  I  don't  like  you 
that  way.  The  more  important  reason  to  you  is  that  I  am 
a  fraud." 

"A  fraud!"  he  exclaimed  incredulously. 

It  had  come  to  her,  as  she  was  leaving  the  car,  that  the 
place  to  start  her  new  life  was  to  start  right,  or  quit  right, 
with  Dick.  "A  fraud,"  she  repeated  —  "an  impostor. 
There  is  no  Maggie  Cameron.  I  am  born  of  no  good  family 
from  the  West.  I  have  no  money.  I  have  always  lived  in 
New  York  —  most  of  the  time  down  on  the  East  Side. 
I  used  to  work  in  a  Fifth  Avenue  millinery  shop.  Till 


258        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

three  months  ago  I  sold  cigarettes  in  one  of  the  big 
hotels." 

"What  of  that!"  cried  Dick. 

"That  is  the  nicest  part  of  what  I  have  to  tell  you," 
she  continued  relentlessly.  "My  supposed  relatives, 
Jimmie  Carlisle  and  Barney  Palmer,  are  no  relatives  at 
all,  but  are  two  clever  confidence  men.  I  have  been  in  with 
them,  working  on  a  scheme  they  have  framed.  Every- 
thing I  have  seemed  to  be,  everything  I  have  done,  even 
this  expensive  apartment,  have  all  been  parts  of  that 
scheme.  The  idea  of  that  scheme  was  to  swindle  some 
rich  man  out  of  a  lot  of  money  —  through  my  playing  on 
his  susceptibilities." 

"Maggie!"  he  gasped. 

"More  concretely,  the  idea  was  to  trick  some  rich  man 
into  falling  in  love  with  me,  to  get  him  to  propose,  then  to 
have  me  confess  that  I  was  already  married,  but  to  a  man 
who  would  give  me  a  divorce  if  he  were  paid  enough.  The 
rich  man  would  then  drive  a  bargain  with  my  supposed 
husband,  pay  over  a  lot  of  money  —  after  which  Barney, 
Old  Jimmie,  and  I  would  disappear  with  our  profits." 

"Maggie!"  he  repeated,  stupefied  with  his  incredulous 
amazement.  But  the  unflinching  gaze  she  held  upon  him 
convinced  him  she  was  speaking  the  truth.  "Then,  if 
that  was  your  game,  why  are  you  telling  me  now?  Why 
did  n't  you  say  '  yes*  when  I  proposed  a  week  ago?  I 
would  have  fallen  for  the  game;  you  would  have  suc- 
ceeded." 

Not  till  that  moment  did  Maggie  realize  the  full 
truth;  not  till  then  did  she  realize  the  solid  influence 
Larry  Brainard  had  been  in  the  background  of  her  life 
all  these  months. 

"  I  did  n't  go  through  with  it  because  of  Larry  Brain- 
ard." 

"Larry  Brainard ! "  His  astonishment  increased.  "You 
know  Larry  Brainard,  then?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        259 

" I've  known  him  for  several  years." 

"And  you've  been  coming  out,  and  he's  been  pre- 
tending not  to  know  you!  Of  course  I  knew  what  Larry 
Brainard  has  been.  But  is  he  in  this,  too?" 

"No.  He's  exactly  what  you  think  him.  From  the 
start  he's  been  trying  to  keep  me  out  of  this.  He  was 
behind  my  coming  to  your  house;  he's  told  me  so.  His 
reason  for  getting  me  there  was  his  belief  that  my  being 
treated  by  you  and  your  sister  as  I  was  would  make 
me  ashamed  of  myself  and  make  me  want  to  quit  what 
I  was  doing.  And  I  think  —  I  think  he  was  right  — 
partly." 

"And  Larry  —  he's  the  reason  you're  telling  me 
now?" 

"I  think  so.  But  there  are  other  reasons."  Making  a 
clean  breast  of  things  though  she  was,  she  felt  she  dared 
not  trust  Dick  with  the  secret  of  her  father.  "I  —  I 
wanted  to  clear  things  up  as  far  as  I  was  responsible. 
That's  one  reason  I  'm  telling  you.  There  was  the  chance 
you  might  sometime  find  out  that  Larry  had  known  me 
and  suspect  him;  I  wanted  you  to  know  the  truth  of 
what  he'd  really  done.  And  I  wanted  to  tell  you  the 
truth  about  myself,  so  you  'd  despise  and  forget  me,  in- 
stead of  perhaps  carrying  around  romantic  delusions 
about  me  after  I've  gone.  And  there's  another  reason. 
I  'd  like  to  tell  you  —  for  you  Ve  been  everything  that 's 
fine  to  me  —  if  it  won't  offend  you." 

"Go  on,"  he  said  huskily. 

"Barney  Palmer  picked  you  out  as  the  victim — you 
did  n't  know  you  were  being  picked  out  —  because  he 
said  that  you  were  an  easy  mark.  That  you  took  things 
for  exactly  what  they  pretended  to  be,  and  did  n't  care 
what  you  did  with  your  money.  That  you  never  would 
settle  down  into  a  responsible  person.  I  'm  telling  you  all 
this,  Dick,  because  I  don't  want  you  to  be  what  Barney 
said." 


260       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Dick  slumped  into  a  chair,  at  last  beaten  down  by  this 
cumulative  revelation.  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands 
and  his  panting  breath  was  convulsive  with  unuttered 
sobs.  Maggie  looked  down  upon  the  young  boy,  with 
pity,  remorse,  and  an  increasing  recognition  of  the  wide- 
spread suffering  she  had  wrought. 

"To  think  that  this  has  all  been  horrible  make-be- 
lieve!" he  at  last  groaned.  "That  all  the  while  I  've  been 
looked  on  as  just  a  young  fool  who  would  always  remain 
a  fool!" 

Maggie,  in  her  sense  of  guilt,  was  helpless  to  make  any 
reply  that  would  soften  his  agony ;  and  for  a  space  neither 
spoke. 

Presently  Dick  stood  suddenly  up.  His  face  was  still 
marked  by  suffering,  but  somehow  it  seemed  to  have 
grown  older  without  losing  its  youth.  There  was  a  new 
blaze  of  determination  in  the  direct  look  he  held  on 
Maggie. 

"You  say  you  have  never  loved  me?"  he  demanded. 

She  shook  her  head.  "But  I've  told  you  that  I've 
always  liked  you." 

"  Larry  Brainard  's  doing  what  he  has  kept  on  doing  for 
you  —  that  means  that  he  loves  you,  doesn't  it?"  he 
pressed  on. 

"He  has  told  me  so." 

"And  you  love  him?" 

"What  difference  does  that  make?  —  since  I  am  going 
away  as  soon  as  I  get  everything  I'm  wholly  or  partly 
responsible  for  cleared  up." 

"If  Larry  Brainard  has  known  you  for  a  long  while, 
then  how  about  Barney  Palmer  and  Jimmie  Carlisle?" 

"They've  known  me  as  long,  or  longer." 

"Then  you  must  have  all  known  each  other?" 

"Yes.  Years  ago  Larry  worked  with  Barney  and 
Jimmie  Carlisle." 

"What  was  the  attitude  of  those  two  toward  Larry, 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       261 

when  he  was  trying  to  balk  them  by  making  you  give  up 
the  plan?" 

"They  hated  him.  They  are  the  cause  —  especially 
Barney  —  of  all  of  Larry's  trouble  with  the  police  and 
with  the  old  crowd  he 's  quit.  To  try  to  clear  Larry,  that 's 
the  most  important  thing  I  'm  going  to  try  to  do." 

"And  that's  where  you've  got  to  let  me  help  you!" 
Dick  cried  with  sudden  energy.  "Larry's  been  a  mighty 
good  friend  to  me  —  he 's  tried  to  head  me  right  —  and 
I  owe  him  a  lot.  And  I  'd  like  a  chance  to  show  that 
Barney  Palmer  I  'm  not  going  to  keep  on  being  the  eternal 
fool  he  sized  me  up  to  be!" 

Maggie  was  startled  by  this  swift  transformation. 
"Why —  why,  Dick!"  she  breathed. 

"What's  your  plan  to  clear  Larry?" 

"I  had  n't  got  so  far  as  to  have  a  clear  plan.  I  had 
only  just  realized  that  there  had  to  be  a  plan.  But  since 
they  have  set  the  police  on  Larry,  it  came  to  me  that  the 
idea  behind  any  plan  would  be  for  the  police  to  really 
capture  Barney  and  Jimmie  Carlisle  —  get  them  out  of 
Larry's  way." 

"That's  it!"  Dick  Sherwood  had  a  mind  which,  given 
an  interesting  stimulus,  could  work  swiftly ;  and  it  worked 
swiftly  now.  "They  were  planning  to  trim  me.  Let 's  use 
that  plan  you  outlined  to  me  —  use  it  to-night.  You  can 
tell  them  some  story  which  will  make  immediate  action 
seem  necessary  and  we'll  all  get  together  this  evening. 
I'll  play  my  part  all  right — don't  you  worry  about  me! 
I  'II  come  with  a  roll  of  money  that  I  '11  dig  up  somewhere, 
and  it'll  be  marked  money.  When  it's  passed  —  bingo! 
—  a  couple  of  detectives  that  we'll  have  planted  to  watch 
the  proceedings  will  step  right  up  and  nab  the  two!" 

She  was  taken  aback  by  the  very  idea  of  him,  the  vic- 
tim, after  her  confession,  throwing  his  lot  in  with  her. 
"Why,  Dick"  —  she  stammered  —  "to  think  of  you 
offering  to  do  such  a  thing!" 


262        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"I  owe  that  much  to  Larry  Brainard,"  he  declared. 
"And  —  and  I  owe  that  much  to  your  desire  to  help  set 
him  straight.  Well,  what  about  my  plan?" 

Since  he  seemed  eager  to  lend  himself  to  it,  it  seemed 
to  her  altogether  wonderful,  and  she  told  him  so.  They 
discussed  details  for  several  minutes,  for  there  was  much 
to  be  done  and  it  had  all  to  be  done  most  adroitly.  It  was 
agreed  that  he  should  come  at  ten  o'clock,  when  the  stage 
would  all  be  set. 

As  he  was  leaving  to  attend  to  his  part  of  the  play,  a 
precautionary  idea  flashed  upon  Maggie. 

"Better  telephone  me  just  before  you  come.  Some- 
thing may  have  happened  to  change  our  plans." 

"All  right  —  I'll  telephone.  Just  keep  your  nerve." 

With  that  he  hurried  out.  At  about  the  time  he  left, 
Larry  was  leaving  Cedar  Crest  in  handcuffs  beside  the 
burly  and  triumphant  Gavegan,  and  believing  that  the 
power  he  had  sought  to  exercise  was  now  effectually  at 
an  end.  He  was  out  of  it.  In  his  despondency  it  was 
not  granted  him  to  see  that  the  greatest  thing  which  he 
could  do  was  already  done ;  that  he  had  set  in  motion 
all  the  machinery  of  what  had  taken  place  and  what  was 
about  to  take  place;  that  all  the  figures  in  the  action 
of  the  further  drama  of  that  night  were  to  act  as  they 
were  to  do  primarily  because  of  promptings  which  came 
from  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

DICK'S  departure  left  Maggie  to  think  alone  upon  an  in- 
tricate and  possibly  dangerous  interplay  of  characters  in 
which  she  had  cast  herself  for  the  chief  r61e,  which  might 
prove  a  sacrificial  r&le  for  her.  She  quickly  perceived 
that  Dick's  plan,  clever  as  it  might  be,  would  bring  about, 
in  the  dubious  event  of  its  success,  only  one  of  the  several 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       263 

happenings  which  had  to  come  to  pass  if  she  were  to  clear 
her  slate  before  her  disappearance. 

Dick's  plan  was  good ;  but  it  would  only  get  rid  of 
Barney  and  Old  Jimmie.  It  would  only  rid  Larry  of  such 
danger  as  they  represented;  it  would  only  be  revenge 
upon  them  for  the  evil  they  had  done.  And,  after  all, 
revenge  helped  a  man  forward  but  very  little.  There 
would  still  remain,  even  in  the  event  of  the  success  of 
Dick's  plan,  the  constant  danger  to  Larry  from  the  police 
hunt,  instigated  by  Chief  Barlow's  vindictive  determina- 
tion to  send  Larry  back  to  prison  for  his  refusal  to  be  a 
stool-pigeon ;  and  the  constant  danger  from  his  one-time 
friends  who  were  hunting  him  down  with  deadly  hatred 
as  a  squealer. 

Somehow,  if  she  were  to  set  things  right  for  Larry,  she 
had  to  maneuver  that  night's  happenings  in  such  a  way 
as  to  eliminate  forever  Barlow's  persecutions,  and  elim- 
inate forever  the  danger  to  Larry  from  his  friends'  and 
their  hirelings'  desire  for  vengeance  upon  a  supposed 
traitor. 

Maggie  thought  rapidly,  elaborating  on  Dick's  plan. 
But  what  Maggie  did  was  not  so  much  the  result  of 
sober  thought  as  of  the  inspiration  of  a  desperate,  hardly 
pressed  young  woman;  but  then,  after  all,  what  we  call 
inspiration  is  only  thought  geared  to  an  incredibly  high 
speed.  First  of  all,  she  got  rid  of  that  slow-witted,  awe- 
some supernumerary,  Miss  Grierson,  who  might  com- 
pletely upset  the  delicate  action  of  the  stage  by  a  dig- 
nified entrance  at  the  wrong  moment  and  with  the  wrong 
cue.  Next  she  called  up  Chief  Barlow  at  Police  Head- 
quarters. Fortunately  for  her  Barlow  was  still  in ;  for  an 
acrimonious  dispute,  then  in  progress  and  taking  much 
space  in  the  public  prints,  between  him  and  the  District 
Attorney's  office  was  keeping  him  late  at  his  desk  despite 
the  most  autocratic  and  pleasant  of  all  demands,  those  of 
his  dinner  hour.  To  him  Maggie  gave  a  false  name,  and 


264        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND  ' 

told  him  that  she  had  most  important  information  to 
communicate  at  once;  to  which  he  growled  back  that  she 
could  give  it  if  she  came  down  at  once. 

Next  she  called  up  Barney,  who  had  been  waiting  near 
a  telephone  in  expectation  of  news  of  the  result  of  her 
second  visit  to  the  home  of  Dick  Sherwood.  To  Barney 
she  said  that  she  had  the  greatest  possible  news  —  news 
which  would  require  immediate  action  —  and  that  he 
should  be  at  her  suite  at  nine  o'clock  prepared  to  play  his 
part  at  once  in  the  big  proposition  that  had  just  de- 
veloped, and  that  he  should  get  word  to  Old  Jimmie  to 
follow  him  in  a  few  minutes. 

Within  fifteen  minutes  a  taxicab  had  whirled  her  down 
to  Police  Headquarters  and  she  was  in  the  office  where 
three  months  earlier  Larry  had  been  grilled  after  his 
refusal  of  the  license  to  steal  and  cheat  on  the  condition 
that  he  become  a  police  stool.  Barlow,  who  was  alone  in 
the  room,  looked  up  with  a  scowl  from  a  secret  report  he 
had  secured  of  the  activities  of  detectives  in  the  District 
Attorney's  office.  Although  Maggie  was  pretty  and  styl- 
ishly dressed,  Barlow  did  not  rise  nor  did  he  remove  the 
big  cigar  he  had  been  viciously  gnawing.  It  is  the  tra- 
dition of  the  Police  Department,  the  most  thoroughly 
respected  article  of  its  religion,  that  a  woman  who  is  seen 
in  Police  Headquarters  cannot  by  any  possibility  be  a 
lady. 

"Well,  what's  on  your  chest?"  he  grunted,  not  even 
asking  her  to  be  seated. 

It  was  suddenly  Maggie's  impulse —  sprung  perhaps  out 
of  unconscious  memory  of  what  Larry  had  suffered  —  to  in- 
flict upon  herself  the  uttermost  humiliation.  So  she  said : 

"I've  come  here  to  offer  myself  as  a  stool-pigeon." 

"What's  that?"  Barlow  exclaimed,  startled.  It  was 
not  often  that  a  swell  lady  —  who  of  course  could  n't  be 
a  swell  (he  did  not  know  who  Maggie  was)  —  volun- 
tarily walked  into  his  office  with  such  a  proposition. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       265 

"I  can  give  you  some  real  information  about  a  big 
game  that 's  being  worked  up.  In  fact,  I  can  arrange  for 
you  to  be  present  when  the  game  is  pulled  off,  and  you 
can  make  the  arrests." 

"Who  are  the  people?"  he  asked  brusquely. 

Maggie  knew  it  would  be  fatal  to  mention  Barney  or 
Old  Jimmie,  if  that  story  about  Barlow's  protection  con- 
tained any  truth.  Again  inspiration,  or  incredibly  swift 
thinking,  came  to  her  aid,  and  with  sure  touch  she  twanged 
one  of  Barlow's  rawest  and  most  responsive  nerves. 

"  Larry  Brainard  is  behind  it  all.  He 's  been  doing  a  lot 
of  things  on  the  quiet  these  last  few  months.  Here  is 
where  you  can  get  his  whole  crowd." 

"Larry  Brainard!" 

Maggie  did  not  yet  know  what  had  befallen  Larry,  and 
Gavegan  had  neglected  to  telephone  his  Chief  of  the  ar- 
rest. Even  had  Gavegan  done  so,  the  large  and  vague 
manner  in  which  Maggie  had  stated  the  situation  would 
have  stirred  Barlow's  curiosity. 

"All  right.  I  '11  put  a  couple  of  my  good  men  on  the  case. 
Where  shall  I  send  'em?" 

"A  couple  of  your  good  men  won't  do.  I  want  only  one 
of  your  good  men  —  and  that  man  is  yourself." 

"Me!"  growled  Barlow.  "What  kind  of  floor-walker 
d*  you  think  I  am?  I'm  too  busy!" 

"Too  busy  to  take  personal  charge,  and  get  personal 
credit,  for  one  of  the  biggest  cases  that  ever  went  through 
this  office?" 

Maggie  had  sought  only  to  excite  his  vanity.  But  un- 
knowingly she  had  also  appealed  to  something  else  in  him : 
his  very  deep  concern  in  the  hostile  activities  of  the  Dis- 
trict Attorney's  office.  If  this  girl  told  the  truth,  then 
here  might  be  his  chance  to  display  such  devotion  to  duty 
as  to  turn  up  some  such  sensational  case  as  would  make 
this  investigation  from  the  District  Attorney's  office  seem 
to  the  public  an  unholy  persecution  and  make  the  chagrined 


266        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

District  Attorney,  who  was  very  sensitive  to  public  opin- 
ion, think  it  wiser  to  drop  the  whole  matter. 

"How  do  I  know  you're  not  trying  to  string  me?  —  or 
get  me  out  of  the  way  of  something  bigger?  —  or  hand  me 
the  double-cross?" 

"  I  shall  be  there  all  the  time,  and  if  you  don't  like  the 
way  the  thing  develops  you  can  arrest  me.  I  suppose 
you  've  got  some  kind  of  law,  with  a  stiff  punishment 
attached,  about  conspiracy  against  an  officer." 

"Well  —  give  me  all  the  dope,  and  tell  me  where  I  'm 
to  come,"  he  yielded  ungraciously. 

" I've  told  you  all  I  am  going  to  tell.  All  the  important 
'dope'  you'll  get  first-hand  by  being  present  when  the 
thing  happens.  The  place  to  come  is  the  Hotel  Grantham 
—  room  eleven-forty-two  —  at  eight-thirty  sharp." 

To  this  Barlow  grudgingly  agreed.  He  might  have 
exulted  inwardly,  but  he  would  have  shown  no  outer 
graciousness  if  a  committee  of  citizens  had  handed  him 
a  reward  of  a  million  dollars  and  an  engrossed  testimonial 
to  his  unprecedented  services.  Barlow  did  not  know  how 
to  thank  any  one. 

Five  minutes  after  she  left  Headquarters  Maggie  was 
in  the  back  room  of  the  Duchess's  pawnshop,  which  her 
rapid  planning  had  fixed  upon  as  the  next  station  at  which 
she  should  stop.  She  did  not  waste  a  moment  in  coming  to 
the  point  with  the  Duchess. 

"Red  Hannigan  is  really  the  most  important  of  Larry's 
old  friends  who  are  out  to  get  him,  is  n't  he?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes  —  in  a  way.  I  mean  among  those  who  honestly 
think  Larry  has  turned  stool  and  squealer.  He  trusted 
Larry  more  than  any  one  else  —  and  now  he  hates  Larry 
more  than  any  one  else.  Rather  natural,  since  he  was  two 
months  in  the  Tombs  before  he  could  get  bail  —  because 
he  thinks  Larry  squealed  on  him." 

"How 's  he  stand  with  his  crowd?" 

"  No  one  higher.  They  'd  all  take  his  word  for  anything. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        267 

"Can  you  find  him  at  once?"  Maggie  pursued  breath- 
lessly. 

That  was  a  trifling  question  to  ask  the  Duchess;  since 
all  the  news  of  her  shadowy  world  came  to  her  ears  in 
some  swift  obscure  manner. 
'Yes.   If  it  is  necessary." 

'It's  terribly  necessary!  If  I  can't  get  him,  the  whole 
th  ng  may  fail!" 

'What  thing?"  demanded  the  Duchess. 
'It  might  all  sound  impossibly  foolish!"  cried  the  ex- 
cited, desperate  Maggie.  "You  might  tell  me  so  —  and 
discourage  me  —  and  I  simply  must  go  ahead!  I  feel 
rather  like  —  like  a  juggler  who 's  trying  for  the  first  time 
to  keep  a  lot  of  new  things  going  in  the  air  all  at  once.  But 
I  think  there's  a  chance  that  I  may  succeed !  I  '11  tell  you 
just  one  thing.  It  all  has  to  do  with  Larry.  I  think  I  may 
help  Larry." 

"I'll  get  Red  Hannigan,"  the  Duchess  said  briefly. 
"What  do  you  want  with  him?" 

"  Have  him  come  to  the  Hotel  Grantham — room  eleven- 
forty-two  —  at  eight-fifteen  sharp ! " 

"He'll  be  there,"  said  the  Duchess. 

There  followed  a  swirling  taxi-ride  back  to  the  Gran- 
tham, and  a  rapid  change  into  her  most  fetching  evening 
gown  (she  had  not  even  a  thought  of  dinner)  to  play  her 
bold  part  in  the  drama  which  she  was  excitedly  writing 
in  her  mind  and  for  which  she  had  just  engaged  her  cast. 
She  was  on  fire  with  terrible  suspense:  would  the  other 
actors  play  their  parts  as  she  intended  they  should?  — 
would  her  complicated  drama  have  the  ending  she  was 
hoping  for? 

Had  she  been  in  a  more  composed,  matter-of-fact  state 
of  mind ,  this  play  which  she  was  staging  would  have  seemed 
the  crudest,  most  impossible  melodrama  —  a  thing  both 
too  absurd  and  too  dangerous  for  her  to  risk.  But  Maggie 
was  just  then  living  through  one  of  the  highest  periods  of 


268       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

her  life;  she  cared  little  what  happened  to  her.  And  it  is 
just  such  moods  that  transform  and  elevate  what  other- 
wise would  be  absurd  to  the  nobly  serious;  that  changes 
the  impossible  into  the  possible;  just  as  an  exalted  mood  or 
mind  is,  or  was,  the  primary  difference  between  Hamlet,  or 
Macbeth,  or  Lear,  and  any  of  the  forgotten  Bowery  melo- 
dramas of  a  generation  now  gone. 

She  had  been  dressed  for  perhaps  ten  nervous  minutes 
when  the  bell  rang.  She  admitted  a  slight,  erect,  well- 
dressed,  middle-aged  man  with  a  lean,  thin-lipped  face 
and  a  cold,  hard,  conservative  eye:  a  man  of  the  type 
that  you  see  by  the  dozens  in  the  better  hotels  of  New 
York,  and  seeing  them  you  think,  if  you  think  of  them  at 
all,  that  here  is  the  canny  president  of  some  fair-sized  bank 
who  will  not  let  a  client  borrow  a  dollar  beyond  his  estab- 
lished credit,  or  that  here  is  the  shrewd  but  unobtrusive 
power  behind  some  great  industry  of  the  Middle  West. 

"I'm  Hannigan,"  he  announced  briefly.  "I  know 
you're  Old  Jimmie  Carlisle's  girl.  The  Duchess  told  me 
you  wanted  me  on  something  big.  What's  the  idea?" 

"You  want  to  get  Larry  Brainard,  don't  you?  —  or 
whoever  it  was  that  squealed  on  you?" 

There  was  a  momentary  gleam  in  the  hard,  gray  eyes. 
"I  do." 

"That's  why  you're  here.  In  a  little  over  an  hour,  if 
you  stay  quiet  in  the  background,  you'll  have  what  you 
want." 

"You've  got  a  swell-looking  lay-out  here.  What's 
going  to  be  pulled  off?" 

"  It 's  not  what  I  might  tell  you  that's  going  to  help  you. 
It's  what  you  hear  and  see." 

"All  right,"  said  the  thin-lipped  man.  "I'll  pass  the 
questions,  since  the  Duchess  told  me  to  do  as  you  said. 
She's  square,  even  if  she  does  have  a  grandson  who's  a 
stool.  I  suppose  I  'm  to  be  out  of  sight  during  whatever 
happens?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        269 

"Yes." 

In  the  room  there  were  two  spacious  closets,  as  is  not  in- 
frequent in  the  better  class  of  modern  hotels;  and  it  had 
been  these  two  closets  which  had  been  the  practical  start- 
ing-point of  Maggie's  development  of  Dick  Sherwood's 
proposition.  To  one  of  these  she  led  Hannigan. 

"You  '11  be  out  of  sight  here,  and  you  '11  get  every  word." 

He  stepped  inside,  and  she  closed  the  door.  Also  she 
took  the  precaution  of  locking  it.  She  wished  Hannigan 
to  hear,  but  she  wished  no  such  contretemps  as  Hannigan 
bursting  forth  and  spoiling  her  play  when  it  had  reached 
only  the  middle  of  its  necessary  action. 

Barlow  came  promptly  at  half-past  eight.  He  brought 
news  which  for  a  few  moments  almost  completely  upset 
Maggie's  delicately  balanced  structure. 

"I  know  who  you  are  now,"  he  said  brusquely.  "And 
part  of  your  game 's  cold  before  you  start." 

"Why?  — What  part?" 

"Just  after  you  left  Headquarters  Officer  Gavegan 
showed  up.  He  had  this  Larry  Brainard  in  tow  —  had 
pinched  him  out  on  Long  Island." 

This  announcement  staggered  Maggie;  for  the  moment 
made  all  her  strenuous  planning  seem  to  have  lost  its  pur- 
pose. In  her  normal  condition  she  might  either  have  given 
up  or  betrayed  her  real  intent.  But  just  now,  in  her  super- 
excited  state,  in  which  she  felt  she  was  fighting  desperately 
for  others,  she  was  acting  far  above  her  ordinary  capacity; 
and  she  was  making  decisions  so  swift  that  they  hardly 
seemed  to  proceed  from  conscious  thought.  So  Barlow, 
vigilant  watcher  of  faces  that  he  was,  saw  nothing  unusual 
in  her  expression  or  manner. 

"What  did  you  do  with  him?"  she  asked. 

"Left  him  with  Gavegan  —  and  with  Casey,  who  had 
just  come  in.  Trailing  with  Brainard  was  a  swell  named 
Hunt,  cussing  mad.  He  was  snorting  around  about 
being  pals  with  most  of  the  magistrates,  and  swore  he'd 


270        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

have  Brainard  out  on  bail  inside  an  hour.  But  what  he 
does  don't  make  any  difference  to  me.  Your  proposition 
seems  to  me  dead  cold,  since  I  've  already  got  Brainard, 
and  got  him  right.  I  would  n't  have  bothered  to  have 
come  here  at  all  except  for  something  you  let  drop  about 
the  pals  he  might  have  been  working  with  these  last  few 
months." 

"That's  exactly  it,"  she  caught  him  up.  "I  never 
thought  that  you  'd  catch  Larry  Brainard  here.  How  could 
I,  when,  if  you  know  me  as  you  say,  you  also  know  that 
he  and  I  are  in  different  camps  —  are  fighting  each  other? 
What 's  going  to  happen  here  is  something  that  will  show 
you  the  people  Larry  Brainard 's  been  mixed  up  with  — 
that  will  turn  up  for  you  the  people  you  want." 

"But  what 's  going  to  happen  ? ' '  Barlow  demanded . 

To  this  Maggie  answered  in  much  the  same  strain  she 
had  used  with  Hannigan  a  few  minutes  earlier.  "I  told 
you  down  at  Headquarters  that  everything  that's  im- 
portant you'll  learn  by  being  present  when  the  thing 
actually  happened.  What  I  tell  you  does  n't  count  for 
much  —  it  might  not  be  true.  It's  what  you  see  and  hear 
for  yourself  when  things  begin  to  happen.  You're  to  wait 
in  here."  She  led  him  to  the  second  large  closet  and  opened 
the  door. 

"See  here,"  he  demanded,  "are  you  framing  something 
on  me?" 

"How  can  I,  in  a  big  hotel  like  this?  And  even  if  I  were 
to  try,  you  'd  certainly  make  me  pay  for  it  later.  Besides, 
you  've  got  a  gun.  Please  go  in  quick ;  I  'm  expecting  the 
people  here  any  minute.  And  don't  make  a  sound  that 
might  arouse  their  suspicions  and  queer  everything." 

He  entered,  and  she  closed  the  door.  So  carefully  that 
he  did  not  hear  it,  she  locked  the  door;  no  more  than  in 
Hannigan's  case  did  she  want  Barlow  to  come  bungling 
into  a  scene  before  it  had  reached  its  climax. 

All  was  now  ready  for  the  curtain  to  rise.  Quivering  all 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       271 

through  she  waited  for  Barney  Palmer,  whose  entrance 
was  to  open  her  drama.  She  glanced  at  her  wrist-watch 
which  she  had  left  upon  the  little  lacquered  writing-table. 
Ten  minutes  of  nine.  Ten  more  minutes  to  wait.  She 
felt  far  more  of  sickening  suspense  than  ever  did  any 
young  playwright  on  the  opening  night  of  his  first  play. 
For  she  was  more  than  merely  playwright.  In  her  des- 
perate, overwrought  determination  Maggie  had  assumed 
for  herself  the  super-mortal  r61e  of  dea  ex  machina.  And 
in  those  moments  of  tense  waiting  Maggie,  who  so 
feverishly  loathed  all  she  had  been,  was  not  at  all  sure 
whether  she  was  going  to  succeed  in  her  part  of  goddess 
from  the  machine. 

At  five  minutes  to  nine  there  was  a  ring.  She  gave  a 
little  jump  at  the  sound.  That  was  Barney.  Though 
generally  when  Barney  came  he  used  the  latch-key  which 
his  assumed  dear  cousinship,  and  the  argued  possibility 
of  their  being  out  and  thus  causing  him  to  wait  around 
in  discomfort,  Miss  Grierson's  sense  of  propriety  had 
unbent  far  enough  to  permit  him  to  possess.  The  truth 
was;  of  course,  that  Barney  had  desired  the  key  so  that 
he  might  have  most  private  conferences  with  Maggie,  at 
any  time  necessity  demanded,  without  the  stolidly  con- 
scientious Miss  Grierson  ever  knowing  what  had  hap- 
pened and  being  therefore  unable  to  give  dangerous 
testimony. 

Maggie  crossed  and  opened  the  door.  But  instead  of 
Barney  Palmer,  it  was  Larry  who  stepped  in.  He  quickly 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"Larry!"  she  cried  startled.  "Why — why,  I  thought 
the  police  had  you!" 

"They  did.  But  Hunt  was  with  me,  and  he  got  hold 
of  a  magistrate  who  would  have  made  Hunt  a  present  of 
the  Tombs  and  Police  Headquarters  if  he  had  owned 
them." 

"Then  you're  out  on  bail?" 


272        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Got  out  about  ten  minutes  ago.  Hunt  did  n't  have 
any  property  he  could  put  up  as  security,  so  he  'phoned 
my  grandmother.  She  walked  in  with  an  armload  of 
deeds.  Why,  she  must  own  as  much  property  in  New 
York  as  the  Astor  Estate." 

"Larry,  I'm  so  glad!"  And  then,  remembering  what, 
according  to  her  plan,  was  due  to  begin  to  happen  almost 
any  moment,  she  exclaimed  in  dismay:  "But,  Larry,  oh, 
why  did  you  come  here  now!" 

"I  wanted  to  know  —  you  understand  —  what  you 
had  decided  to  do  after  learning  about  your  father.  And 
I  wanted  to  tell  you  that,  after  all  my  great  boasts  to 
you,  I  seem  to  have  failed  in  every  boast.  Item  one,  the 
police  have  got  me.  Item  two,  since  the  police  have  got 
me,  my  old  pals  will  also  most  likely  get  me.  Item  three, 
when  I  was  arrested  at  Cedar  Crest  Miss  Sherwood 
learned  that  I  had  known  you  all  along  and  believes  I 
was  part  of  a  conspiracy  to  clean  out  the  family ;  so  she 
chucked  me  —  and  I  've  lost  what  I  believed  my  big 
chance  to  make  good.  So,  you  see,  Maggie,  it  looks  as  if 
you  were  right  when  you  predicted  that  I  was  going  to 
fail  in  everything  I  said  I  was  going  to  do." 

"Larry — Miss  Sherwood  believes  that!"  she  breathed. 
And  then  she  remembered  again,  and  caught  his  arm 
with  sudden  energy.  "Larry,  you  must  n't  stay  here!" 

"Why  not?" 

Her  answer  was  almost  identical  with  one  she  had 
given  the  previous  evening.  "Because  Barney  Palmer 
may  be  here  the  next  minute!" 

His  response  was  in  sense  also  identical.  "Then  I'll 
stay  right  here.  There's  no  one  I  want  to  see  as  much 
as  Barney  Palmer.  And  this  time  I'll  have  it  out  with 
him!" 

Maggie  was  in  consternation  at  this  unexpected  twist 
which  was  not  in  the  brain-manuscript  of  her  play  at  all 
—  which  indeed  threatened  to  take  her  play  right  out  of 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        273 

her  hands.  "Please  go,  Larry!"  she  cried  desperately. 
"And  please  give  me  a  chance!  You'll  spoil  it  all  if  you 
stay!" 

" I'm  going  to  stay  right  here,"  was  his  grim  response. 

She  realized  there  was  no  changing  him.  She  glimpsed 
a  closet  door  behind  him,  and  caught  at  the  chance  of 
saving  at  least  a  fragment  of  her  drama. 

"Stay,  then  —  but,  Larry,  please  give  me  a  chance  to 
do  what  I  want  to  do!  Please!"  By  this  time  she  had 
dragged  him  across  the  room  and  had  started  to  unlock 
the  closet.  "Just  wait  in  here — and  keep  quiet !  Please!" 

He  took  the  key  from  her  fumbling  hands,  unlocked 
the  door,  and  slipped  the  key  into  his  pocket.  "All 
right  —  I'll  give  you  your  chance,"  he  promised. 

He  stepped  through  the  door  and  closed  it  upon  him- 
self, entombing  himself  in  blackness.  The  next  moment 
the  glare  of  a  pocket  flash  was  in  his  face,  blinding  him. 

"Larry  Brainard!"  gritted  a  low  voice  in  the  darkness. 

Larry  could  see  nothing,  but  there  was  no  mistaking 
that  voice.  "Red  Hannigan!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes  —  you  damned  squealer!  And  I'm  going  to 
finish  you  off  right  here!" 

The  light  clicked  out,  and  a  pair  of  lean  hands  almost 
closed  on  Larry's  wind-pipe.  But  Larry  caught  the 
wrists  of  the  older  man  in  a  grip  the  other  could  not 
break.  There  was  a  brief  struggle  in  the  blackness  of  the 
closet,  then  the  slighter  man  stood  still  with  his  wrists 
manacled  by  Larry's  hands. 

"Evidently  you  haven't  a  gun  on  you,  Red,  or  you 
would  n't  have  tried  this,"  Larry  commented.  "Any- 
how, you  could  n't  have  got  away  with  killing  in  a  big 
hotel,  whether  you  had  strangled  me  or  shot  me.  I  don't 
blame  you  for  being  sore  at  me,  Red  —  only  you've  got 
me  all  wrong.  But  you  and  I  are  evidently  here  for  the 
same  purpose:  to  get  next  to  something  that's  going  to 
happen  out  in  the  room.  What  do  you  say,  Red?  —  let's 


274       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

suspend  hostilities  for  the  present.  You  Ve  got  me  where 
you  can  follow  me,  and  you  can  get  me  any  time." 

"You  bet  I'll  get  you!"  declared  Hannigan.  And 
then  after  a  few  more  words  an  armistice  was  agreed  upon 
between  the  two  men  in  the  closet  and  silently,  tensely, 
they  stood  in  the  dark  awaiting  whatever  was  to  happen. 

Outside  Maggie,  that  amateur  playwright  who  had 
tried  so  desperately  to  prearrange  events,  that  inexpe- 
rienced goddess  from  the  machine,  stood  in  a  panic  of 
fear  and  suspense  the  like  of  which  she  had  never  known. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Bur  when  Barney's  latch-key  slid  into  the  door  and 
Barney,  in  a  smart  dinner  jacket,  came  in,  Maggie  was 
herself  again.  Indeed  she  was  better  than  herself,  for 
there  rushed  to  her  support  that  added  power  which  she 
had  just  been  despairing  of,  which  carries  some  people 
through  an  hour  of  crisis,  and  which  may  occasionally  lift 
an  actor  above  himself  when  fortune  gives  him  a  difficult 
yet  splendid  part  which  is  the  great  chance  of  his  career. 

And  Maggie  showed  to  the  eye  that  she  was  better 
than  her  best,  for  Barney  exclaimed  the  instant  he  was 
beside  her:  "Gee,  Maggie,  you  look  like  the  Queen  of 
Sheba,  whoever  that  dame  was!  Any  guy  would  fall  for 
you  to-night  —  and  fall  so  hard  that  he  'd  break,  or  go 
broke!" 

But  Barney  was  too  eager  to  await  any  response. 
"What's  behind  the  hurry-up  call  you  sent  in?  Any- 
thing broken  yet?" 

"Something  big!  But  sit  down.  There's  a  lot  to  tell. 
And  I  must  tell  it  quick  —  before  my"  —  she  could  not 
force  herself  to  say  "father"  —  "before  Old  Jimmie 
comes,  and  Dick." 

"Then  Dick's  coming?" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        275 

"Yes.  Things  have  taken  a  twist  so  that  everything 
breaks  to-night.  But  sit  down,  and  I'll  tell  you  every- 
thing." 

She  had  noted  that  the  door  behind  which  Larry  stood, 
and  to  which  he  had  captured  the  key,  was  open  a  bare 
half-inch.  It  looked  no  more  suspicious  than  any  closet 
door  that  by  accident  had  swung  free  of  its  latch,  but  by 
deft  maneuvering  Maggie  managed  so  that  Barney  sat 
at  the  table  with  his  back  toward  both  closets. 

"Go  to  it,  Maggie,"  he  urged. 

The  plan  which  had  swiftly  developed  from  Dick 
Sherwood's  idea  required  that  she  should  tell  much  that 
was  the  truth  and  much  that  was  not  truth,  and  required 
that  she  should  play  with  every  faculty  and  every  at- 
traction she  possessed  upon  Barney's  tremendous  vanity 
and  upon  his  jealous  admiration  of  her.  She  had  to  make 
him  believe  more  in  her  as  a  pal  than  ever  before;  she 
had  to  make  him  want  her  more  as  a  woman  than  ever 
before.  And  at  this  moment  she  felt  herself  thrillingly 
equal  to  this  vampire  r61e  her  over-stimulated  sense  of 
justice  had  commanded  her  to  undertake. 

"Things  have  gone  great,"  she  began,  speaking  con- 
cisely, yet  trying  not  in  this  eager  brevity  to  lose  the 
convincing  effect  that  she  would  be  the  complete  mistress 
of  any  enterprise  to  which  she  yielded  her  interest.  "  Dick 
Sherwood  proposed  to  me  again,  and  this  time  I  said 
'yes.'  I  saw  that  he  was  ready  for  anything,  so  I  took 
some  things  into  my  hands.  I  had  to,  for  I  saw  we  had  to 
act  quick  even  at  the  risk  of  losing  a  bit  of  the  maximum 
figure  we  had  counted  on.  You  see  I  realized  the  danger 
to  us  in  Larry  Brainard  suddenly  showing  up,  and  his 
knowing,  as  he  told  us  he  did,  who  the  sucker  is  that 
we've  been  stringing  along.  Anything  might  happen,  any 
minute,  from  Larry  Brainard  that  would  upset  every- 
thing. So  I  reasoned  that  we  had  to  collect  quick  or  run 
the  risk  of  never  getting  a  nickel." 


276       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Some  bean  you've  got,  Maggie,"  he  said  admiringly. 
"Keep  your  foot  on  the  gas  pedal." 

"What  I  did  was  only  the  carrying-out  of  the  plan 
you  had  decided  on  —  of  course  carrying  it  out  quicker, 
and  with  a  few  little  changes  that  the  urgent  situation 
demanded.  After  he  proposed  I  broke  down,  as  per 
schedule,  and  confessed  that  I  had  deceived  him  to  the 
extent  that  I  was  already  married.  Married  to  a  man  I 
did  n't  love,  and  who  did  n't  love  me,  but  who  was  a 
tight-wad  and  who  would  n't  let  me  go  unless  he  saw  a 
lot  of  money  in  it  for  him.  And  I  gave  Dick  all  the  rest 
of  the  story,  just  as  we  had  doped  it  out." 

"Great  work,  Maggie!  How  did  he  take  it?" 

"Exactly  as  we  figured  he  would.  He  was  sorry  for 
me;  it  didn't  make  any  difference  at  all  in  his  feelings 
for  me.  He'd  buy  my  husband  off  —  give  him  any  price 
he  wanted  —  and  just  so  I  would  n't  have  to  feel  myself 
bound  to  such  a  man  a  minute  longer  than  necessary  he  'd 
make  a  bargain  with  him  at  once  and  pay  him  part  of  the 
money  right  down.  To-night,  if  he  could  get  in  touch  with 
my  husband.  And  so,  Barney,  since  we  had  to  act  quick 
and  there  was  no  time  to  bring  in  another  man  that  I 
could  pass  off  as  my  husband,  I  confessed  to  him  that  I 
was  married  to  you." 

"To  me!"  exclaimed  Barney. 

"And  he's  coming  here  in  less  than  an  hour,  with  real 
money  in  his  pockets,  to  see  if  he  can't  fix  a  deal  with 
you." 

"Me!"  exclaimed  the  startled  Barney  again.  His 
beady  eyes  glowed  at  her  ardently.  "Gee,  you  know  I 
wish  I  really  was  married  to  you,  Maggie!  If  I  was,  you 
bet  money  could  n't  ever  pry  you  loose  from  me!" 

"Well,  there's  the  whole  lay-out,  Barney.  It's  up  to 
you  to  be  my  grasping,  bargaining,  unloving  husband  for 
about  an  hour." 

"  I  had  n't  thought  of  myself  in  that  part,"  he  objected. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       277 

''I'd  figured  that  we'd  bring  in  a  new  man  to  be  the 
husband.  It's  pretty  dangerous  for  me,  my  stringing 
Dick  along  all  this  while  and  then  suddenly  to  enter  the 
act  as  your  husband  —  and  to  take  the  money." 

"Dangerous!"  There  was  sudden  contempt  in  her 
voice  and  in  her  eyes.  "So  you're  that  kind  of  man, 
Barney  —  afraid !  And  afraid  after  my  telling  Dick  you 
were  my  husband,  and  his  swallowing  the  thing  without 
a  suspicion!  Well,  right  this  minute  is  when  we  call  this 
deal  off  —  and  every  other  deal !" 

"Oh,  don't  be  so  quick  with  that  temper  of  yours, 
Maggie !  I  merely  said  it  was  dangerous.  Of  course  I  '11 
do  it." 

And  then  Barney  asked,  with  a  cunning  he  tried  to 
hide:  "But  why  did  you  ask  me  to  have  Old  Jimmie  show 
up  here  right  after  me?  We  don't  need  him." 

"Just  what's  behind  your  saying  that,  Barney?"  she 
demanded  sharply. 

He  squirmed  a  little,  then  spoke  the  truth.  "You 
don't  love  your  father  any  too  much,  and  he  does  n't 
love  you  any  too  much  —  I  know  that.  He  need  n't 
really  know  how  much  we  take  off  Sherwood ;  if  he  was  n't 
here,  he'd  have  to  take  our  word  for  what  we  got  and 
we  'd  tell  him  we  got  mighty  little.  Then  the  real  money 
would  be  divided  fifty-fifty  between  just  you  and  me." 

"  I  may  not  love  my  father,  but  he 's  in  this  on  the  same 
basis  as  you  are,  or  I'm  out  of  it,"  she  declared.  "I 
thought  you  might  suggest  something  like  this;  that's 
one  reason  I  asked  you  to  have  him  come.  Another  reason 
—  and  this  is  something  I  forgot  to  tell  you  awhile  ago  — 
when  I  broke  down  and  confessed  everything  to  Dick 
Sherwood,  I  told  Dick  that  Old  Jimmie  was  really  my 
guardian;  and  we  both  agreed  that  he  should  be  present 
as  a  witness  to  any  agreement,  and  to  protect  my  in- 
terests. Still  another  reason  is  that  since  we  had  to  work 
so  fast,  the  thing  to  do  was  to  split  the  money  on  the  spot 


278       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

in  three  ways,  and  then  each  of  us  shoot  off  in  a  different 
direction  to-night  before  any  bad  luck  had  a  chance  to 
break.  In  fact,  Barney,  this  present  minute  is  when  you 
and  I  say  our  good-byes." 

He  forgot  his  scheme  to  defraud  Old  Jimmie  in  the  far 
greater  concern  aroused  by  her  last  words.  He  leaned 
across  the  table  and  tried  to  take  her  hand,  an  attempt 
she  deftly  thwarted. 

"But  listen,  Maggie,"  he  asked  with  husky  eagerness, 
"you  and  I  are  going  to  have  an  understanding  to  join 
up  with  each  other  soon,  are  n't  we?  You  know  what  I 
mean  —  belong  to  each  other.  You  know  how  I  feel  about 
you!" 

This  was  the  principal  point  Maggie  had  been  ma- 
neuvering toward.  Before  her  was  the  most  difficult  scene 
of  the  many  which  she  had  planned,  on  her  successful 
management  of  which  the  success  of  everything  seemed  to 
depend.  Within  she  was  palpitant  with  the  strain  and  sus- 
pense of  it  all;  but  on  Barney  she  held  cool,  appraising 
eyes.  In  this  splendid  composure,  her  momentary  with- 
drawal from  him,  she  seemed  to  Barney  more  beautiful, 
more  desirable,  more  indispensable,  than  at  any  time  since 
he  had  discovered  back  at  the  Duchess's  that  Maggie  was 
a  find. 

"Of  course  I  know  exactly  what  you  mean,  Barney," 
she  responded  with  deliberation,  bewitchingly  alluring 
in  her  air  of  superiority.  "  I  've  known  for  a  long  time  you 
and  I  would  have  to  have  a  real  talk.  Are  you  ready  for 
a  straight  talk  now?" 

"As  straight  as  you  can  talk  it!" 

"  I  '11  probably  fall  for  some  man  and  marry  him.  Every 
woman  does.  But  if  I  marry  him,  it'll  be  because  I  love 
him.  But  my  marrying  a  man  does  n't  mean  I  'm  going 
to  go  into  business  with  him.  I  fm  not  going  to  mix  love 
with  business  —  not  unless  the  man  is  the  right  sort  of 
man.  Of  course  it  would  be  better  if  the  man  I  marry  and 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        279 

the  man  I  take  on  as  a  business  partner  were  the  same 
man  —  but  I  'm  not  going  to  take  any  risks.  You  under- 
stand me  so  far?" 

"Surest  thing  you  know.  And  every  word  you've  said 
proves  that  your  head  is  n't  just  something  to  look  pretty 
with.  Let  me  slip  this  over  to  you  right  at  the  start  — 
I  'm  the  right  sort  of  man ! " 

"That's  exactly  what  I  want  to  find  out,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  her  deliberation,  with  the  air  of  sitting  secure 
upon  the  highest  level.  "  I  know  now  what  I  can  do.  I  've 
proved  it.  Now  I  'm  going  right  ahead  putting  over  big 
things.  You  once  told  me  I  had  it  in  me  to  be  the  best 
ever  —  and  I  now  know  I  can  be.  I  know  I  've  got  to  tie 
up  with  a  man,  and  the  man  has  got  to  be  just  as  good  in 
his  way  as  I  am  in  mine.  Right  there 's  where  I  'm  in  doubt 
about  you.  I  said  I  was  going  to  talk  straight  —  and  I  'm 
handing  it  to  you  straight.  I  don't  know  how  good  you 
are." 

"You  mean  you  think  I  'm  not  big  enough  to  work  with 
you?" 

"  I  mean  exactly  what  I  said.  I  said  that  I  did  n't  really 
know  how  good  you  are,  and  that  I  was  n't  going  to  tie  up 
with  any  man  except  the  best  in  the  business.  You've 
hinted  now  and  then  at  a  lot  of  big  things  you've  put 
across  and  how  strong  you  were  in  certain  quarters  where 
it  paid  to  be  strong  —  but  I  really  know  mighty  little 
about  you,  Barney.  This  present  job  has  n't  required  you 
to  do  anything  special,  and  all  the  really  hard  work  I've 
done  myself.  Of  course  I  know  you  are  a  good  dancer,  and 
clever  with  the  ladies,  and  know  how  to  pick  up  a  sucker 
and  string  him  along.  But  that 's  everything  I  do  know. 
And  there  are  hundreds  of  men  who  are  good  at  these 
things.  The  man  I  tie  up  with  has  got  to  be  good  at  a  lot 
of  other  things  —  and  I've  got  to  know  he's  good!" 

"  Good  at  what  other  things,  Maggie?"  he  asked  with 
suppressed  eagerness. 


28o       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"He's  got  to  be  good  at  putting  over  all  kinds  of  situa- 
tions. I  don't  care  how  he  does  it.  So  clever  at  putting 
things  over  that  no  one  ever  guesses  he 's  the  man  who  did 
it.  And  he's  got  to  be  able  to  give  me  protection.  You 
know  what  I  mean.  A  woman  in  the  game  I  'm  going  in  for 
is  absolutely  through,  as  far  as  doing  anything  big  is  con- 
cerned, the  minute  she  gets  a  police  record.  I've  got  to 
have  a  man  who's  able  to  stand  between  me  and  the 
police.  And  I  Ve  got  to  know  from  past  performances  that 
the  man  can  do  these  things.  Just  large  words  about  what 
he  can  do,  or  hints  about  what  he  has  done,  don't  count  for 
a  nickel  with  me.  This  is  plain,  hard  business  I  'm  talking, 
Barney,  and  I  don't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings  when  I  tell 
you  that  you  don't  measure  up  in  any  way  to  the  man  I 
need." 

It  had  been  difficult  for  Barney  to  hold  himself  until 
she  had  finished.  To  start  with,  he  had  the  vain  man's 
constant  itch  to  tell  of  his  exploits,  his  dislike  for  the  ano- 
nymity of  his  cleverness  unjustly  ascribed  to  some  other 
man.  And  then  Maggie  had  played  upon  him  even  more 
skillfully  than  she  imagined. 

"I'm  exactly  the  man  you  need  in  every  way!"  he 
exploded. 

"Those  are  just  words,"  she  said  evenly.  "I  said  I  had 
to  have  something  more  than  mere  words." 

"I'm  ace-high  with  Chief  Barlow!" 

"You've  got  to  be  more  explicit." 

Barney  was  now  all  excitement.  "Don't  you  get  what 
that  means?  I  've  never  been  locked  up  once,  and  yet  I  've 
been  pulling  stuff  all  the  time!  And  yet  look  how  Larry 
Brainard,  that  the  bunch  thought  was  so  clever,  got 
hooked  and  was  sent  away.  I  guess  you  know  the  answer ! " 

"Again,  Barney,  I  Ve  got  to  ask  you  to  be  more  explicit." 

"Then  the  answer  is  that  all  the  while  I  Ve  been  work- 
ing on  an  understanding  with  Barlow.  I  guess  that's 
explicit!" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       281 

"You  mean,"  she  said  in  her  cool  voice,  "that  you've 
been  a  stool-pigeon  for  Barlow?" 

"Sure!  —  though  I  don't  like  the  word.  That's  the 
only  safe  way  of  staying  steady  in  the  game  —  an  under- 
standing with  the  police.  All  there  is  to  it  is  now  and 
then  to  tip  the  police  off  about  some  dub  of  a  crook:  of 
course  you  've  got  to  be  smooth  enough  not  to  let  any  one 
guess  your  game." 

"That  does  n't  seem  to  me  such  a  strong  talking  point 
in  your  favor,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 

"But  don't  you  get  the  idea?  I  'm  so  strong  with  Barlow 
that  I  can  get  away  with  anything  I  want  to.  That  means 
I  can  give  you  the  protection  from  the  police  you  just 
spoke  about.  See?" 

"Yes,  I  see."  Again  she  spoke  thoughtfully.  "But  I 
told  you  I  had  to  be  shown.  You  must  have  done  some 
pretty  big  things  to  have  got  such  a  standing  with 
Barlow.  For  example?" 

"I  could  write  you  a  book!"  He  laugned  in  his  excited 
pride.  "  You  ask  for  an  example.  I  could  hardly  hold  my- 
self in  awhile  ago  when  you  said  you  'd  practically  swung 
the  present  deal  alone,  and  that  I  'd  done  almost  nothing. 
Why,  Maggie,  I  did  just  one  smooth  little  thing  without 
which  there  could  n't  have  been  any  deal." 

"What?" 

"You'll  admit  that  nothing  would  have  been  safe  with 
Larry  Brainard  determined  to  butt  in  on  what  you  did?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I'm  the  little  guy  that  fixed  Larry  Brainard  so 
he  would  n't  hurt  any  one!" 

"You  did  that?"  For  the  first  time  Maggie  showed 
what  seemed  to  be  a  live  interest.  "How?" 

"How?  You'll  say  it  was  clever  when  you  learn  how. 
And  you  '11  say  that  I  'm  the  man  you  want  on  that  count 
of  being  able  to  put  over  a  situation  so  that  no  one  will 
ever  guess  I'm  the  man  who  did  it.  You'll  admit  that 


282        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

putting  Larry  Brainard  out  of  business,  so  he'd  stay  out, 
was  certainly  a  stiff  job  —  for  though  I  don't  like  him,  I 
admit  that  Larry  is  one  wise  bird.  One  thing  I  did  was  to 
suggest  to  Barlow  that  he  force  Larry  to  become  a  police 
stool.  I  knew  Larry  would  refuse,  and  I  figured  out  every- 
thing else  exactly  as  it  has  happened.  I  ask  you,  was  n't 
that  putting  something  clever  over?" 

"It  certainly  was  clever!"  admired  Maggie. 

"Wait!  That's  only  half.  To  finish  Larry  off  so  that 
he  would  n't  have  a  chance  I  had  to  finish  him  off  not 
only  with  the  cops,  but  also  with  his  pals.  So  I  tipped  off 
Barlow  to  the  game  Red  Hannigan  and  Jack  Rosenfeldt 
were  pulling  and  — " 

"Then  Larry  Brainard  really  did  n't  do  that?" 

"No;  I  did  it!  Listen  —  there's  some  more  to  it.  I 
spread  the  word,  so  that  it  seemed  to  be  a  leak  from  the 
Police  Department,  that  it  was  Larry  who  had  squealed 
on  Red  Hannigan  and  Jack  Rosenfeldt.  Did  his  old  pals 
start  out  to  get  Larry?  Well,  now,  did  they!  If  I  do  say 
it  myself,  that  was  smooth  work!" 

"It  was  wonderful!"  agreed  Maggie. 

"And  there's  still  more,  Maggie!  You  remember  that 
charge  of  stick-up  and  attempted  murder  of  a  Chicago 
guy  that  the  police  are  trying  to  land  Larry  on?  I  put  that 
over!  I'm  the  party  that  was  messed  up  in  that.  I  was 
trying  to  put  over  a  neat  little  job  all  on  my  own;  but 
something  went  wrong  just  as  I  thought  I  was  cleaning 
out  the  sucker,  and  I  had  to  be  rough  with  that  Chicago 
guy  in  order  to  make  a  get-away  from  him.  I  beat  it 
straight  to  Barlow,  and  said  that  right  here  was  the  chance 
to  fasten  something  on  Larry.  Barlow  took  my  tip.  My 
foot  may  have  slipped  on  the  original  job,  but  my  bean 
certainly  did  act  quick,  and  you  Ve  got  to  admit  I  turned 
an  apparent  failure  into  something  bigger  than  success 
would  have  been.  And  that's  certainly  traveling!" 

44  It  certainly  is!" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       283 

"And  now,  Maggie" —  Barney  pressed  her  eagerly  — 
"  I  've  shown  you  I  'm  just  the  sort  you  said  a  man  had  to 
be  for  you  to  tie  up  with  him.  I've  shown  you  I  can 
guarantee  you  police  protection.  And  I  Ve  shown  you  I  'm 
able  to  put  over  clever  situations  without  any  one  ever 
guessing  I  'm  the  party  who  put  'em  over.  I  fit  all  your 
specifications!  How  about  our  settling  right  now  to  join 
up  some  place  —  Toronto 's  the  best  bet  —  say  three  days 
after  we  make  our  get-away  after  to-night's  clean-up? 
Let 's  be  quick  about  this,  Maggie  —  before  Old  Jimmie 
comes  in.  He 's  due  any  minute  now !" 

"Is  n't  that  him  at  the  door  now?"  breathed  Maggie. 

Both  waited  intently  for  a  moment.  But  though  she 
pretended  so,  Maggie's  interest  was  not  upon  the  outer 
door.  Her  attention  was  fixed,  as  it  had  been  with  sicken- 
ing fear  this  last  minute,  upon  that  half-inch  crack  in  the 
closet  door  behind  Barney.  Why  had  she,  in  her  dismayed 
urgence,  allowed  Larry  to  possess  himself  of  that  closet 
key?  —  when  her  plan  had  been  to  keep  Hannigan  as  well 
as  Barlow  forcibly  behind  the  scenes  until  she  had  acted 
out  her  play?  She  now  hoped  almost  against  hope  that 
Hannigan  would  not  burst  forth  and  ruin  what  was  yet 
to  come.  Since  that  door  unluckily  had  to  be  unlocked, 
her  one  chance  was  given  her  by  the  presence  of  Larry. 
Perhaps  Larry  could  perceive  the  larger  things  she  was 
striving  for,  and  in  some  way  restrain  Hannigan. 

These  thoughts  were  but  an  instant  in  passing  through 
her  brain.  Barney's  eyes  came  back  from  the  outer  door 
to  her  face.  "That's  not  Old  Jimmie  yet." 

"No,"  her  lips  said.  But  her  brain  was  saying,  since 
the  crack  still  remained  a  half-inch  crack,  "Larry  under- 
stands —  he's  holding  back  Red  Hannigan!" 

Barney  returned  swiftly  to  his  charge.  "How  about 
Toronto,  Maggie  —  say  exactly  seventy- two  hours  from 
now  —  the  Royal  Brunswick  Hotel?" 

Maggie  realized  she  could  no  longer  put  him  off  if  she 


284        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

were  to  keep  him  unsuspicious  for  the  next  hour.  Besides, 
in  her  desperate  disillusionment  concerning  herself,  she 
did  not  care  what  happened  to  her,  or  what  people  might 
think  of  her,  if  only  she  could  keep  this  play  going  till  its 
final  moment. 

"Yes,"  she  said  —  "if  we  each  feel  the  same  way  to- 
ward each  other  when  this  evening's  ended." 

"Maggie!"  he  cried.  "Maggie!"  This  time,  when  he 
exultantly  caught  at  her  hand,  she  dared  not  refuse  it  to 
him.  And  she  felt  an  additional  loathing  for  Barney's 
caress  because  she  knew  that  Larry  was  a  witness  to  it. 

Indeed,  it  was  difficult  for  Larry,  at  the  sight  of  Mag- 
gie's hand  in  Barney's  too  eager  palms,  to  hold  himself  in 
check;  and  to  do  this  in  addition  to  holding  in  check  the 
slight,  quivering  Red  Hannigan,  whose  collar  and  whose 
right  wrist  he  had  been  gripping  these  last  three  minutes. 
For  Larry,  as  Maggie  had  hoped,  had  dimly  apprehended 
something  of  Maggie's  plan,  and  he  felt  himself  bound  by 
the  promise  she  had  extracted  from  him,  to  let  her  go 
through  with  whatever  she  had  under  way;  though  he  had 
no  conception  of  her  plan's  extent,  and  could,  of  course, 
not  know  of  the  intention  of  her  overwrought  mind  to 
give  her  plan  its  final  touch  in  what  amounted  to  her  own 
self-destruction,  and  in  her  vanishing  utterly  out  of  the 
knowledge  of  all  who  knew  her. 

Another  minute  passed ;  then  Larry  heard  three  peculiar 
rings  of  the  bell  of  the  outer  door — an  obvious  signal. 
Maggie  answered  the  summons,  and  Larry  saw  Old  Jim- 
mie  enter.  There  followed  a  rapid  and  compact  conference 
between  the  three,  the  substance  of  which  was  the  telling 
of  Old  Jimmie  of  the  developments  against  Dick  Sher- 
wood which  Maggie  had  a  little  earlier  recited  to  Barney, 
together  with  instructions  to  Old  Jimmie  concerning  his 
new  r61e  as  Maggie's  guardian.  It  seemed  to  Larry  that 
he  caught  signs  of  uneasiness  in  Jimmie,  but  to  all  the 
older  man  nodded  his  head. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        285 

Presently  there  was  a  loud  ring.  "That's  Dick!"  ex- 
claimed Barney  in  a  whisper.  "And  mighty  eager,  too — 
shows  that  by  being  ahead  of  the  time  you  set!  Let  him 
in,  Maggie." 

Maggie  was  startled  by  the  ring,  though  she  did  not 
show  it.  She  thought  rapidly.  She  had  definitely  asked 
Dick  to  telephone  before  coming.  Why  had  n't  he  tele- 
phoned? Perhaps  something  had  happened  to  prevent  it, 
or  perhaps  an  idea  had  come  to  him  by  which  their  plan 
could  be  bettered  without  a  telephone  message.  In  either 
case,  she  and  Dick  might  have  to  improvise  and  deftly 
catch  cues  tossed  to  each  other,  as  experienced  actors 
sometimes  do  without  the  audience  ever  knowing  that  a 
hiatus  in  the  play  has  been  skillfully  covered. 

Maggie  stood  up.  "You  both  understand  what  you're 
to  do?" 

Both  whispered  "yes."  Larry  watched  Maggie  start 
across  the  room,  his  whole  figure  quivering  with  suspense 
as  to  what  was  going  to  happen  when  Dick  entered.  He 
was  quite  sure  there  was  more  here  than  appeared  upon 
the  surface,  quite  sure  that  Maggie  did  not  intend  that 
the  business  with  Dick  should  work  out  as  she  had  out- 
lined. What  could  Maggie  possibly  be  up  to?  he  asked 
himself  in  feverish  wonderment,  and  could  find  no  answer. 
For  of  course  Larry  had  no  knowledge  of  that  most  im- 
portant fact:  that  Maggie  had  actually  made  a  confession 
to  Dick  —  not  the  fraudulent  confession  she  had  told  Bar- 
ney of  —  but  an  honest  and  complete  confession,  and  that 
in  consequence  she  and  Dick  were  working  in  cooperation. 

From  his  crack  Larry  could  not  quite  see  the  outer  door. 
But  after  she  opened  the  door  he  saw  Maggie  fall  back 
with  an  inarticulate  cry,  her  face  suddenly  blanched  with 
astounded  fright.  And  then  Larry  experienced  one  of 
the  greatest  surprises  of  his  life — a  surprise  so  unnerving 
that  he  almost  loosed  his  hold  upon  Red  Hannigan.  For 
instead  of  Dick  there  walked  into  the  room  the  tall, 


286       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

white-haired  figure  of  Joe  Ellison,  and  Joe's  lean,  prison- 
blanched  face  was  aquiver  with  a  devastating  purpose. 
How  in  the  name  of  God  had  Joe  come  to  be  here?  —  and 
what  did  that  terrible  look  portend? 

But  Larry's  surprise  was  but  an  unperturbing  emotion 
compared  to  the  effect  of  her  father's  appearance,  with 
his  terrible  face,  upon  Maggie.  Life  seemed  suddenly  to 
go  out  of  her.  She  realized  that  the  clever  play  which  she 
had  constructed  so  rapidly,  and  upon  which  she  had 
counted  to  clear  the  tangle  for  which  she  was  in  part  re- 
sponsible, and  to  bring  her  back  in  time  as  the  seeming 
fulfillment  of  the  dream  of  a  happy  and  undisillusioned 
father  —  she  realized  that  her  poor,  brilliant  play  had 
come  to  an  instant  end  before  it  was  fairly  started,  and 
that  the  control  of  events  had  passed  into  other  hands. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

AT  the  entrance  of  Joe  Ellison  instead  of  the  expected 
Dick,  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  had  sprung  up  from  the 
table  in  amazement.  Joe  strode  past  Maggie,  hardly 
heeding  his  daughter,  and  faced  the  two  men. 

"I  guess  you  know  me,  Jimmie  Carlisle!"  said  Joe  with 
a  terrifying  restraint  of  tone.  "The  pal  I  trusted  —  the 
pal  I  turned  everything  over  to  —  the  pal  who  double- 
crossed  me  in  every  way!" 

"Joe  Ellison!"  gasped  Jimmie,  suddenly  as  ghastly  as 
a  dead  man.  "I  —  I  did  n't  know  you  were  out." 

"I'm  out,  all  right.  But  I'll  probably  go  in  again  for 
what  I  fm  going  to  do  to  you!  And  you  there"  —  turning 
on  Barney —  "you're  got  up  enough  like  a  professional 
dancer  to  be  the  Barney  Palmer  I've  heard  of!" 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours  who  I  am?"  Barney 
tried  to  bluster.  "Perhaps  you  won't  mind  introducing 
yourself." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        287 

"I'm  the  man  who's  going  to  settle  with  you  and  Old 
Jimmie  Carlisle!  Is  that  introduction  enough?  If  not, 
then  I'm  Joe  Ellison,  the  father  of  this  girl  here  you  call 
Maggie  Carlisle  and  Maggie  Cameron,  that  you  two  have 
made  into  a  crook." 

"Your  daughter!"  exclaimed  Barney  in  stupefaction. 
"Why,  she's  Jimmie  Carlisle's — " 

"He's  always  passed  her  off  as  such;  that  much  I've 
learned.  Speak  up,  Jimmie  Carlisle!  Whose  daughter  is 
this  girl  you've  turned  into  a  crook?" 

"Your  daughter,  Joe,"  stammered  Old  Jimmie.  "But 
about  my  making  her  into  a  crook  —  you  're  —  you  're  all 
wrong  there." 

"So  she's  not  a  crook,  and  you  did  n't  make  her  one?" 
demanded  Joe  with  the  calm  of  unexploded  dynamite 
whose  fuse  is  sputtering.  "I  left  you  about  twelve  or 
fifteen  hundred  a  year  to  bring  her  up  on  —  as  a  decent, 
respectable  girl.  That's  twenty-five  or  thirty  a  week. 
If  she's  not  a  crook,  how  can  she  on  twenty-five  a  week 
have  all  the  swell  clothes  I  've  seen  her  in,  and  be  living  in 
a  suite  like  this  that  costs  from  twenty-five  to  fifty  a  day? 
And  if  she  is  n't  a  crook,  why  is  she  mixed  up  with  two 
such  crooks  as  you?  And  if  she  is  n't  a  crook,  why  is  she 
in  a  game  to  trim  young  Dick  Sherwood?" 

The  two  men  started  and  wilted  at  these  driving 
questions.  "But  —  but,  Joe,"  stammered  Old  Jimmie, 
"you've  gone  out  of  your  head.  She's  not  in  any  such 
game.  She  never  even  heard  of  any  Dick  Sherwood." 

"Cut  out  your  lies,  Jimmie  Carlisle!"  Joe  ordered 
harshly.  "We've  got  something  more  to  do  here,  the  four 
of  us,  than  to  waste  any  time  on  lies.  And  just  to  prove  to 
you  that  your  lies  will  be  wasted,  I  '11  lay  all  my  cards  face 
up  on  the  table.  Since  I  got  out  I  Ve  been  working  for  the 
Sherwoods.  Larry  Brainard  was  working  there  before  me, 
and  got  me  my  job.  I  Ve  seen  this  girl  here  —  my  daugh- 
ter that  you've  made  into  a  crook  —  out  there  twice. 


288        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

Dick  Sherwood  was  supposed  to  be  in  love  with  her.  At 
the  end  of  this  afternoon  some  officers  came  to  the  Sher- 
woods'  and  arrested  Larry  Brainard.  I  was  working  out- 
side, overheard  what  was  happening,  and  crept  up  on  the 
porch.  Officer  Gavegan,  who  was  in  charge,  found  a 
painting  among  Larry  Brainard's  things.  Miss  Sherwood 
said  that  it  was  a  picture  of  Miss  Maggie  Cameron  who 
had  been  visiting  there,  and  I  could  see  that  it  was.  Officer 
Gavegan  said  it  was  a  picture  of  Maggie  Carlisle,  daugh- 
ter of  Jimmie  Carlisle,  and  that  she  was  a  crook.  Larry 
Brainard,  cornered,  had  to  admit  that  Gavegan  was  right. 
I  guessed  at  once  who  Maggie  Carlisle  was,  since  she  was 
just  the  age  my  girl  would  have  been  and  since  you  never 
had  any  children.  And  that's  how,  Jimmie  Carlisle, 
standing  there  outside  the  window/'concluded  the  terrible 
voice  of  Joe  Ellison,  "I  learned  for  the  first  time  that  the 
baby  I'd  trusted  with  you  to  be  brought  up  straight,  and 
that  I  believed  was  now  happy  somewhere  as  a  nice,  decent 
girl,  you  had  really  brought  up  as  your  own  daughter  and 
trained  to  be  a  crook!" 

Old  Jimmie  shrank  back  from  Joe's  blazing  eyes;  his 
mouth  opened  spasmodically,  but  no  words  came  there- 
from. There  was  stupendous  silence  in  the  room.  Within 
the  closet,  Larry  now  understood  that  low,  strange  sound 
he  had  heard  on  the  Sherwoods'  porch  and  which  Gavegan 
and  Hunt  had  investigated.  It  had  been  the  suppressed 
cry  of  Joe  Ellison  when  he  had  learned  the  truth  — 
the  difference  between  his  dreams  and  the  reality.  He 
could  not  imagine  what  that  moment  had  been  to  Joe : 
the  swift,  unbelievable  knowledge  that  had  seemed  to  be 
tearing  his  very  being  apart. 

Larry  had  an  impulse  to  step  out  to  Joe's  side.  But  just 
as  a  little  earlier  he  had  felt  the  scene  had  belonged  to 
Maggie,  he  now  felt  that  this  situation,  the  greatest  in 
Joe's  life,  belonged  definitely  to  Joe,  was  almost  sacredly 
Joe's  own  property.  Also  he  felt  that  he  was  about  to 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        289 

learn  many  things  which  had  puzzled  him.  Therefore 
he  held  himself  back,  at  the  same  time  keeping  his  hold 
upon  Red  Hannigan. 

During  this  moment  of  silence,  while  Larry  was  wonder- 
ing what  was  going  to  happen,  his  eyes  also  took  in  the 
figure  of  Maggie,  all  her  powers  of  action  and  expression 
still  paralyzed  by  appalling  consternation.  He  understood, 
at  least  to  a  degree,  what  she  was  going  through.  He  knew 
this  much  of  her  plan :  that  she  had  intended  to  cut  loose 
in  some  way  from  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie,  and  that  she 
had  intended  that  her  father  should  continue  to  cherish 
the  dream  that  had  been  his  happiness  for  so  long.  And 
now  her  father  had  come  upon  her  in  the  company  of 
Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  and  in  a  situation  whose  every 
superficial  circumstance  was  such  as  to  make  him  believe 
the  worst  of  her! 

Joe  turned  on  the  smartly  dressed  Barney.  "  I  '11  takp 
you  first,  you  imitation  swell,  because  I  'm  saving  Jimmie 
Carlisle  to  the  last ! "  went  on  Joe's  crunching  voice.  "  I'm 
going  to  twist  your  damned  neck  for  what  you  Ve  helped 
do  to  my  girl,  but  if  you  want  to  say  anything  first,  say 
it." 

Barney's  response  was  a  swift  movement  of  his  right 
hand  toward  his  left  armpit.  But  Barney  Palmer,  like 
almost  all  his  kind,  was  a  very  indifferent  gunman;  and 
he  had  no  knowledge  of  the  reputation  for  masterful 
quickness  that  had  been  Joe  Ellison's  twenty  years 
earlier.  Before  his  compact  automatic  was  fairly  out  of  its 
holster  beneath  his  armpit,  it  was  in  Joe  Ellison's  hands. 

"I  sized  you  up  for  that  kind  of  rat  and  was  watching 
you,"  continued  Joe  in  his  same  awful  grimness.  "I'm 
not  going  to  shoot  you,  unless  you  make  me.  I'm  going 
to  twist  that  pretty  neck  of  yours.  But  first,  out  with 
anything  you've  got  to  say  for  yourself!" 

"I  haven't  had  anything  to  do  with  this  business," 
said  Barney,  trying  to  affect  a  bold  manner. 


290        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"You  lie!  I  know  that  in  this  game  against  Dick  Sher- 
wood, in  which  you  used  my  girl,  you  were  the  real 
leader!" 

"Well  —  even  if  I  did  use  your  girl,  I  only  used  her  the 
way  I  found  her." 

"You  lie  again!  I  know  how  your  kind  work:  cleverly 
putting  crooked  ideas  into  girls'  minds,  and  exciting  their 
imagination,  so  they'll  work  with  you.  Your  case  is 
closed."  He  turned  to  his  one-time  friend.  "What  have 
you  got  to  say  for  yourself,  Jimmie  Carlisle?" 

Old  Jimmie  believed  that  his  last  hour  was  come.  He 
showed  something  of  the  defiant,  almost  maniacal  cour- 
age of  a  coward  who  realizes  he  can  retreat  no  farther. 

"What  I  got  to  say,  Joe  Ellison,"  he  snarled  in  a  sud- 
den rage  which  bared  his  yellow  teeth,  "is  that  I 'm  even 
with  you  at  last !" 

"Even  with  me?    What  for?  " 

"For  the  way  you  double-crossed  me  in  nineteen -one 
in  that  Gordon  business.  You  never  gave  me  a  dime  — 
said  the  thing  had  fallen  down  —  yet  I  know  there  was  a 
big  haul!" 

"I  told  you  the  truth.  That  Gordon  thing  was  a 
fizzle." 

"There's  where  you 're  lying!  It  was  a  clean-up !  And  I 
knew  you  'd  been  cheating  me  out  of  my  share  in  other 
deals!" 

"You  're  absolutely  wrong,  Jimmie  Carlisle.  But  if  you 
thought  that,  why  did  n't  you  have  it  out  with  me  at  the 
time?" 

"Because  I  knew  you  would  lie!  You  were  a  better 
talker  than  I  was,  and  since  our  outfit  always  sided  with 
you,  I  knew  I  wouldn't  have  a  chance  then.  But  I 
reasoned  that  if  I  kept  quiet  and  kept  on  being  your 
friend,  I'd  get  my  chance  to  get  even  if  I  waited  awhile. 
I  waited  —  and  I  certainly  got  my  chance!" 

"Go  on,  Jimmie  Carlisle!" 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       291 

And  Old  Jimmie  went  on  —  a  startlingly  different  Old 
Jimmie,  his  pent-up  evil  now  loosed  into  quivering,  malig- 
nant triumph;  went  on  with  the  feverish  exultation  of  a 
twisted,  perverted  mind  that  has  brooded  long  over  an 
imagined  injustice,  that  has  brooded  greedily  and  long  in 
private  over  his  revenge,  and  at  last  has  his  chance  to 
gloat  in  the  open. 

"When  you  were  sent  away,  Joe  Ellison,  and  turned 
over  your  daughter  to  me  with  those  orders  about  seeing 
that  she  was  brought  up  as  a  decent  girl,  I  began  to  see 
the  big  chance  I  'd  been  waiting  for.  I  asked  myself,  What 
is  the  dearest  thing  in  the  world  to  Joe  Ellison?  The 
answer  was,  this  idea  he'd  got  about  his  girl.  I  asked  my- 
self, What  is  the  biggest  way  I  can  get  even  with  Joe 
Ellison?  The  answer  was,  to  make  Joe  Ellison  believe 
all  the  time  he 's  in  stir  that  his  girl  is  growing  up  the  way 
he  wants  her  to  be  and  yet  to  bring  her  up  the  exact  thing 
he  didn't  want  her  to  be.  And  that's  exactly  what  I 
did!" 

"You  —  did  —  such  a  thing?"  breathed  Joe  Ellison, 
almost  incredulous. 

"That's  exactly  what  I  did!"  Old  Jimmie  went  on, 
gloatingly.  "  It  was  easy.  No  one  knew  you  had  a  daugh- 
ter, so  I  passed  her  off  as  my  own  baby  by  a  marriage  I  'd 
not  told  any  one  about.  I  saw  that  she  always  lived  among 
crooks,  looked  at  things  the  way  crooks  do,  and  grew  up 
with  no  other  thought  than  to  be  a  crook.  I  never  had  an 
idea  of  using  her  myself,  till  she  began  to  look  like  such  a 
good  performer  this  last  year;  and  then  my  idea,  no  mat- 
ter what  Barney  Palmer  may  have  planned,  was  to  use 
her  only  in  a  couple  of  stunts.  My  main  idea  always  was, 
when  you  came  out  with  your  grand  idea  of  what  your 
girl  had  grown  up  to  be,  for  you  suddenly  to  see  your  girl, 
and  know  her  as  your  girl,  and  know  her  to  be  a  crook. 
That  smash  to  you  was  the  big  thing  to  me  —  what  I  'd 
planned  for,  and  waited  for.  I  did  n't  expect  the  blow-off 


292        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

to  come  like  this;  I  did  n't  expect  to  be  caught  in  it  when 
it  did  happen.  But  since  it  has  happened,  well —  There's 
your  daughter,  Joe  Ellison!  Look  at  her!  Look  at  what 
I  've  made  her!  I  guess  I'm  even  all  right!" 

"My  God!"  breathed  Joe  Ellison,  staring  at  the  lean 
face  twisting  with  triumphant  malignancy.  "I  didn't 
think  there  could  be  such  a  man!" 

He  slowly  turned  upon  Maggie.  This  was  the  first 
direct  recognition  he  had  taken  of  her  since  his  en- 
trance. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  can  guess  what  your  being  what 
you  are  has  meant  to  me,"  he  began  in  a  numbed  tone 
which  grew  accusingly  harsh  as  he  continued.  "But  I'd 
think  that  a  daughter  of  mine,  with  such  a  mother,  would 
have  had  more  instinctive  sense  than  to  have  gone  into 
such  a  game  with  such  a  pair  of  crooks!  " 

"It's  true  —  I  have  been  what  you  think  me  —  I  did 
go  into  this  thing  against  Dick  Sherwood,"  Maggie  re- 
sponded in  a  voice  that  at  first  was  faltering,  then  that 
stumbled  rapidly  on  in  her  eagerness  to  pour  out  all  the 
facts.  "  But  —  but  Larry  Brainard  had  kept  after  me  — 
and  finally  he  made  me  see  how  wrong  I  was  headed. 
And  then,  this  afternoon,  before  I  spoke  to  you,  Larry 
told  me  that  you  were  my  real  father.  When  I  learned 
the  truth  —  how  I  had  been  cheated  out  of  being  some- 
thing else  —  how  I  was  the  exact  opposite  of  what  you 
had  wanted  me  to  be  and  believed  me  to  be  —  I  felt  about 
it  almost  exactly  as  you  feel  about  it.  I  —  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  clear  up  at  once  all  the  wrong  I  was  responsible 
for  —  and  then  disappear  in  such  a  way  that  you  'd  never 
have  your  dream  of  me  spoiled.  And  so  —  and  so  this 
afternoon,  after  I  left  Cedar  Crest,  I  confessed  the  whole 
truth  to  Dick  Sherwood  —  about  our  plan  to  cheat  him. 
And  like  the  really  splendid  fellow  he  is,  Dick  Sherwood 
offered  to  help  me  set  straight  the  things  I  wanted  to  set 
straight.  Particularly  to  clear  Larry  Brainard.  And  so 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        293 

my  being  here  as  you  find  me  is  part  of  a  plan  between 
Dick  Sherwood  and  myself.  It's  really  a  frame-up.  A 
frame-up  to  catch  Barney  Palmer  and  Jimmie  Carlisle." 

"A  frame-up!"  ejaculated  these  two  in  startled  uni- 
son. 

"  How  a  frame-up?  "  demanded  her  father,  no  bit  of  the 
accusing  harshness  gone  out  of  his  voice. 

"Our  plan  against  Dick  Sherwood  was  to  have  him 
propose  to  me,  then  for  me  to  confess  that  I  was  really 
married  to  a  mean  sort  of  man  I  did  n't  love  —  the  idea 
being  that  Dick  would  be  infatuated  enough  to  pay  a  big 
sum  to  a  dummy  husband,  and  the  three  of  us  would  dis- 
appear as  soon  as  we  got  Dick's  money.  Dick  offered 
to  go  through  with  the  plan  as  Barney  Palmer  and  Jimmie 
Carlisle  had  shaped  it  up  —  go  through  with  it  to-night 
—  and  then  after  money  had  passed,  we'd  have  a  criminal 
case  against  them.  By  reminding  him  that  Larry  Brainard 
knew  just  what  we  were  up  to,  and  might  spoil  every- 
thing if  we  did  n't  act  at  once,  I  got  Barney  Palmer  worked 
up  to  the  point  where  he  was  going  to  pose  as  my  husband 
and  take  the  money.  Dick  Sherwood  was  to  come  a  little 
later,  after  he'd  first  telephoned  me,  with  a  big  roll  of 
marked  money." 

There  were  stuttered  exclamations  from  Barney  and 
Old  Jimmie,  which  were  cut  off  by  the  dominant  incisive- 
ness  of  Joe  Ellison's  words  to  his  daughter: 

"I  think  you're  lying  to  me!  Besides,  even  if  you're 
telling  the  truth,  it's  a  pretty  way  you've  taken  to  clear 
things  up !  Don't  you  see  that  by  letting  Dick  Sherwood 
come  here  and  play  such  a  part,  you  'd  be  dead  sure  to  in- 
volve him  and  his  family  in  a  dirty  police  story  that  the 
papers  of  the  whole  country  would  play  up  as  a  sensation? 
It's  plain  to  any  one  that  that's  no  way  a  person  who 
wanted  to  square  things  would  use  Dick  Sherwood.  And 
that's  why  I  think  you're  lying!" 

" I  had  thought  of  that  —  you're  right,"  said  Maggie. 


294        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"And  so  I  wasn't  going  to  do  it.  Hewas  going  to  telephone 
me  —  just  about  this  time  —  and  when  he  called  up  I  was 
going  to  fake  his  message.  I  was  going  to  tell  Barney 
Palmer  and  Old  Jimmie  that  Dick  had  just  telephoned  he 
was  n't  coming,  because  one  of  the  two  had  just  sold  him 
a  tip  for  ten  thousand  dollars  that  this  was  a  crooked  game. 
I  thought  this  would  have  started  a  quarrel  between  the 
two;  they  are  suspicious  of  each  other,  anyhow.  Each 
would  have  accused  the  other,  and  in  their  quarrel  they 
would  have  been  likely  to  have  let  out  a  lot  of  truth  that 
would  have  completely  given  each  other  away." 

"Not  a  bad  plan  at  all,"  commented  Joe  Ellison.  He 
tried  to  peer  deep  into  his  daughter  for  a  moment,  his  in- 
flamed face  relaxing  neither  in  its  harshness  nor  its  doubt 
of  her.  "But  since  you  are  the  clever  crook  I  actually 
know  you  to  be  from  your  work  on  Dick  Sherwood,  and 
since  Jimmie  Carlisle  says  he  has  trained  you  to  be  a 
crook,  I  believe  that  everything  you've  told  me  is  just 
something  you've  cleverly  invented  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment  —  just  so  many  lies." 

"But  — but— " 

She  broke  off  before  the  harsh,  accusing  doubt  of  his 
pale  face.  For  a  fraction  of  a  moment  no  one  spoke.  Then 
the  telephone  bell  began  to  ring. 

"Dick!"  breathed  Maggie,  and  started  for  the  tele- 
phone. 

"Stay  right  where  you  are!"  her  father  ordered.  "I'll 
answer  that  telephone  myself,  and  see  whether  you're 
lying  to  me  about  Dick  Sherwood! . . .  No,  we'll  do  this 
together.  I  '11  hold  the  receiver  and  hear  what  he  says. 
You  '11  do  the  talking  and  you  '11  answer  just  what  I  tell  you 
to,  and^you'll  keep  your  hand  tight  over  the  mouthpiece 
while  I  'm  giving  you  your  orders.  You  two  "  —  to  Barney 
and  Old  Jimmie,  with  a  significant  movement  of  Barney's 
automatic  —  "you'd  better  behave  while  this  telephone 
business  is  going  on." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        295 

The  next  moment  Larry  was  hearing,  or  rather  witness- 
ing, the  strangest  telephone  conversation  of  his  experience. 
Maggie  was  holding  the  transmitter,  and  Joe  had  the  re- 
ceiver at  his  ears,  grimly  covering  the  two  men  with  the 
automatic.  Maggie  obediently  kept  her  palm  tight  over 
the  mouthpiece  during  Joe's  brief  whispered  directions, 
and  no  one  in  the  room  except  Joe,  not  even  Maggie,  had 
the  slightest  idea  of  what  was  really  passing  over  the 
wires. 

What  Larry  heard  was  no  more  than  a  dozen  most  com- 
monplace words  in  the  world,  transformed  into  the  most 
absorbing  words  in  the  language.  Joe  ordered  Maggie  to 
answer  with  "hello"  in  her  usual  tone,  which  she  did,  and 
Joe,  after  a  startled  expression  at  the  first  words  that 
came  over  the  wire,  listened  with  immobile  face  for  four  or 
five  seconds.  Then  he  nodded  imperatively  to  Maggie 
and  she  put  her  hand  over  the  mouthpiece. 

"Ask  him  how  much,  and  when  he  wanted  it  to  be 
paid,"  he  ordered. 

"How  much,  and  when  does  he  want  it  to  be  paid?" 
repeated  Maggie. 

Again  Joe  listened  for  several  moments;  and  then  or- 
dered as  before:  "Say  'Yes.'" 

"Yes,"  said  Maggie. 

Another  period  of  waiting,  and  Joe  ordered :  "Say, '  I  Ve 
got  a  much  better  plan  that  supersedes  the  old.' " 
|    "I've  got  a  much  better  plan  that  supersedes  the 
old." 

There  was  yet  another  period  of  waiting,  then  Joe  com- 
manded: "Tell  him  he  really  must  n't  and  say  good-bye 
quick." 

"  You  really  must  n't !  Good-bye ! " 

The  instant  her  "Good-bye"  was  out  of  her  mouth 
Joe  clicked  the  receiver  upon  its  hook,  and  stood  re- 
garding the  breathless  Maggie.  His  pale,  stern  face  was 
not  quite  so  severe  as  before.  Presently  he  spoke : 


296        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"I  know  now  that  you  really  were  sick  of  what  you'd 
been  trying  to  do  —  that  you  'd  really  broken  away  from 
these  two  —  that  you'd  really  confessed  to  Dick,  and 
are  now  all  square  with  him." 

The  word  "Father!"  struggled  chokingly  toward  her 
lips.  But  she  only  said: 

"  I  'm  glad  —  you  know." 

"And  you  were  shrewd  in  that  guess  you  made  of 
what  one  of  these  two  would  do."  Joe  crossed  back  to 
Barney  and  Old  Jimmie.  "You  two  must  have  been 
almighty  afraid,  because  of  Larry  Brainard,  that  your 
game  was  suddenly  collapsing,  and  each  must  have  been 
trying  to  grab  a  piece  for  himself  before  he  ran  away." 

"What  you  talking  about?"  gruffly  demanded  Barney. 

"Perhaps  I'm  talking  about  you.  But  more  par- 
ticularly about  Jimmie  Carlisle.  For  just  now  Dick 
Sherwood  said  when  he  telephoned,  that  an  hour  or  two 
ago  Jimmie  Carlisle  had  hunted  him  up,  had  hinted  that 
he  was  going  to  lose  a  lot  of  money  unless  he  was  properly 
advised,  and  offered  to  give  him  certain  valuable  in- 
formation for  five  thousand  cash." 

Barney  turned  upon  his  partner.  "You  damned  thief ! " 
he  snarled,  tensed  as  if  about  to  spring  upon  the  other. 

Old  Jimmie,  turned  greenishly  pale,  shrank  away  from 
Barney,  his  every  expression  proclaiming  his  guilt.  Then 
Maggie  again  found  her  voice: 

"And  at  about  the  same  time  Barney  was  trying  to 
double-cross  Jimmie  Carlisle,  Barney  proposed  to  me 
that,  after  we'd  got  Dick  Sherwood's  money,  we'd  tell 
Jimmie  Carlisle  we'd  got  very  little,  and  divide  the  real 
money  fifty-fifty  between  just  us  two." 

"You  damned  thief!"  snarled  Old  Jimmie  back  at  his 
partner. 

Thenextmoment  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie  were  upon  each 
other,  striking  wildly,  clawing.  But  the  moment  after  Joe 
Ellison,  his  repressed  rage  now  unloosed,  and  with  the 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        297 

super-strength  of  his  supreme  fury,  had  torn  the  two 
apart. 

"You  don't  do  that  to  each  other  —  that  job  belongs 
to  me!"  he  cried.  His  right  arm  flung  Barney  backward 
so  that  Barney  went  staggering  over  himself  and  sprawled 
upon  the  floor.  Joe  gripped  Old  Jimmie's  collar,  and  his 
right  hand  painfully  twisted  Jimmie's  arm.  "And  I 
finish  you  off  first,  Jimmie  Carlisle,  for  what  you  've  done 
to  me  and  my  girl!  But  for  Larry  Brainard  you,  Jimmie 
Carlisle,  would  have  succeeded  in  your  scheme  to  make 
my  girl  a  crook !  I  'd  like  to  give  you  a  thousand  years  of 
agony,  you  damned  rat  —  but  that's  beyond  me!"  His 
right  hand  shifted  swiftly  from  Old  Jimmie's  arm  to  his 
throat.  "But  I'm  going  to  choke  your  rat's  life  out  of 
you!  —  your  lying,  sneaking  devil's  life  out  of  you!" 

Old  Jimmie  squirmed  and  twisted  with  those  long 
fingers  clamped  mercilessly  around  his  throat,  his  eyes 
rolling,  and  his  mouth  gaping  with  voiceless  cries.  He 
was  indeed  being  shaken  as  a  rat  might  be  shaken. 

"Don't!  —  Don't!"  cried  the  frantic  Maggie,  and 
started  to  seize  her  father  to  pull  him  away.  But  she  was 
halted  by  her  arm  being  caught  by  Barney. 

"Let  Jimmie  have  it!"  he  said  fiercely  to  her,  and 
flung  her  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room.  And  grimly 
exultant  over  what  seemed  to  be  Old  Jimmie's  doom,  he 
started  for  the  door  to  make  his  own  escape. 

Up  to  the  moment  of  Joe  Ellison's  eruption  Larry 
had  felt  bound  to  remain  a  mere  spectator  where  he  was: 
long  as  the  time  had  seemed  to  him,  it  had  in  fact  been 
less  than  half  an  hour.  He  had  felt  bound  at  first  by  his 
promise  to  Maggie  to  let  her  work  out  her  plan;  and 
bound  later  by  his  sense  that  this  situation  belonged  to 
Joe  Ellison.  But  now  this  swift  crisis  dissolved  all  such 
obligations.  He  sprang  from  his  closet  to  take  his  part 
in  the  drama  that  was  so  swiftly  unfolding. 


298       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

LARRY  caught  and  whirled  around  Barney  Palmer  just 
as  the  hand  of  the  escaping  Barney  was  on  the  knob  of 
the  outer  door. 

"No,  you  don't,  Barney  Palmer!"  he  cried.  "You 
stay  right  here!" 

Startled  as  Barney  was  by  this  appearance  of  his  dear- 
est enemy,  he  wasted  no  precious  time  on  mere  words. 
He  swung  a  vicious  blow  at  Larry,  intended  to  remove 
this  barrier  to  his  freedom.  But  the  experienced  Larry 
let  it  glance  off  his  forearm,  and  with  the  need  of  an 
instantaneous  conclusion  he  sent  a  terrific  right  to 
Barney's  chin.  Barney  staggered  back,  fell  in  a  crumpled 
heap,  and  lay  motionless. 

Sparing  only  the  fraction  of  a  second  to  see  that 
Barney  was  momentarily  out  of  it,  Larry  sprang  upon 
Joe  Ellison  and  tried  to  break  the  deadly  grips  Joe  held 
upon  Old  Jimmie. 

"Stop,  Joe  —  stop!"  he  cried  peremptorily.  "Your 
killing  Jimmie  Carlisle  is  n't  going  to  help  things!" 

Without  relaxing  his  holds,  Joe  turned  upon  this  inter- 
ferer. 

"Larry  Brainard!  How'd  you  come  in  here?" 

"I've  been  here  all  the  time.  But,  Joe  — don't  kill 
Jimmie  Carlisle!" 

"You  keep  out  — this  is  my  business!"  Joe  fiercely 
replied.  "If  you've  been  here  all  the  time,  then  you 
know  what  he's  done  to  me,  and  what  he's  done  to  my 
girl!  You  know  he  deserves  to  have  his  neck  twisted 
off  —  and  I'm  going  to  twist  it  off!" 

Larry  perceived  that  Joe's  sense  of  tremendous  injury 
had  made  him  for  the  moment  a  madman  in  his  rage. 
Only  the  most  powerful  appeal  had  a  chance  to  bring  him 
back  to  sanity. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       299 

"Listen,  Joe  —  listen!"  he  cried  desperately,  straining 
to  hold  back  the  other's  furious  strength  from  its  de- 
structive purpose.  "After  what's  happened,  every  one 
is  bound  to  know  that  Maggie  is  your  daughter!  Under- 
stand that,  Joe?  —  every  one  will  know  that  Maggie  is 
your  daughter!  It's  not  going  to  help  you  to  be  charged 
with  murder.  And  think  of  this,  Joe  —  what's  it  going 
to  do  to  your  daughter  to  have  her  father  a  murderer?" 

"What's  that?"  Joe  Ellison  asked  dazedly. 

Larry  saw  that  his  point  had  penetrated  to  the  other's 
reason.  So  he  drove  on,  repeating  what  he  had  said. 

"Understand  this,  Joe?  —  every  one  will  now  know 
that  Maggie  is  your  daughter!  You  simply  can't  prevent 
their  knowing  that  now !  Remember  how  for  over  fifteen 
years  you've  been  trying  to  do  the  best  you  could  for 
her!  Do  you  now  want  to  do  the  worst  thing  you  can  do? 
The  worst  thing  you  can  do  for  Maggie  is  to  make  her 
father  a  murderer!" 

"  I  guess  that's  right  Larry, "he  said  huskily.  "Thanks." 

He  pushed  the  half-strangled  Jimmie  Carlisle  away 
from  him.  "You'll  get  yours  in  some  other  way!"  he 
said  grimly. 

Old  Jimmie,  staggering,  caught  the  back  of  a  chair  for 
support.  He  tenderly  felt  his  throat  and  blinked  at 
Larry  and  Joe  and  Maggie.  He  did  not  try  to  say  any- 
thing. In  the  meantime  Barney  had  recovered  con- 
sciousness, had  struggled  up,  and  was  standing  near 
Old  Jimmie.  Their  recognition  that  they  were  sharers  of 
defeat  had  served  to  restore  something  of  the  sense  of 
alliance  between  the  two. 

"Well,  anyhow,  Larry  Brainard,"  snarled  Barney, 
"you  haven't  had  anything  to  do  with  putting  this 
across!" 

It  was  Joe  Ellison  who  replied.  "Larry  Brainard  has 
had  everything  to  do  with  putting  this  across.  He's 
been  beating  you  all  the  time  from  the  very  beginning, 


3oo        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

though  you  may  not  have  known  it.  And  though  he's 
seemed  to  be  out  of  things  for  the  last  few  hours,  he's 
been  the  actual  power  behind  everything  that's  happened 
up  to  this  minute.  So  don't  fool  yourself  —  Larry  Brain- 
ard  has  beaten  you  out  at  every  point!" 

A  sense  of  triumph  glowed  within  Larry  at  this.  There 
had  been  a  time  when  he  had  wanted  the  animal  satis- 
faction which  would  have  come  from  his  giving  violent 
physical  punishment  to  these  two  —  particularly  to 
Barney.  But  he  had  no  desire  now  for  such  empty 
vengeance. 

"Well,  I  guess  you've  got  nothing  on  me,"  Barney 
growled  at  them,  "so  I'll  be  moving  along.  Better  come, 
too,  Jimmie." 

While  he  spoke  a  figure  had  moved  from  Larry's  closet 
with  the  silence  of  a  swift  shadow.  It's  thin  hand  gripped 
Barney's  shoulder. 

"I  guess  I've  got  something  on  you!"  it  said. 

Barney  whirled.  "Red  Hannigan!"  he  gasped. 

"Yes,  Red  Hannigan!  —  you  stool  —  you  squealer!" 
said  Red  Hannigan.  "I  heard  you  brag  about  being 
Barlow's  stool,  and  I  heard  everything  else  you  bragged 
about  to  Joe  Ellison's  girl.  I'd  bump  you  off  right  now 
if  I  had  my  gat  with  me  and  if  I  had  any  chance  at  a 
get-away.  But  I'll  be  looking  after  you,  and  the  gang 
will  be  looking  after  you,  till  you  die  —  the  same  as 
you  set  us  after  Larry  Brainard!  No  matter  what  else 
happens  to  you,  you'll  always  have  that  as  something 
extra  waiting  for  you!  And  when  the  time  comes,  we'll 
get  you!" 

As  silently  as  he  had  appeared  from  the  closet,  as 
silently  he  let  himself  out  of  the  room.  The  glowering 
features  of  Barney  had  faded  to  a  pasty  white  while 
Hannigan  had  spoken,  and  now  the  hand  which  tried  to 
bring  a  handkerchief  to  his  lips  shook  so  that  he  could 
hardly  find  his  face.  For  none  knew  so  well  as  Barney 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       301 

Palmer  how  inescapable  was  this  thing  which  would  be 
hanging  over  him  until  the  end  of  his  days. 

Before  any  one  in  the  room  could  speak  there  came  a 
loud  pounding  from  within  the  door  of  the  closet  Larry 
and  Red  Hannigan  had  not  occupied.  "Oh,  I'd  com- 
pletely forgotten!"  exclaimed  Maggie  —  and  indeed  she 
had  forgotten  all  that  was  not  immediately  connected 
with  the  situation  created  by  her  father's  unexpected 
entrance.  She  crossed  and  unlocked  the  door,  and  Barlow 
stepped  out. 

"Chief  Barlow!"  exclaimed  the  astonished  Larry,  and 
all  the  other  men  gazed  at  the  Chief  of  Detectives  with 
an  equal  surprise. 

"He  is  part  of  my  frame-up,"  Maggie  explained  at 
large.  "I  wanted  both  the  police  and  Larry's  old  friends 
to  know  the  truth  at  first  hand  —  and  clear  him  before 
I  went  away." 

"Wasn't  that  Red  Hannigan  who  just  spoke?"  were 
Barlow's  first  words. 

"Yes,"  said  Larry. 

Barney,  and  Old  Jimmie  as  well,  had  perked  up  at  the 
appearance  of  Barlow,  as  though  at  aid  which  had  come 
just  in  time.  But  Barlow  turned  upon  Barney  a  cold 
police  eye. 

"I  heard  you  brag  that  you  were  my  stool.  That's  a 
lie." 

"Why  —  why  —  Chief  —  "  Barney  stammered.  He 
had  counted  upon  help  here,  where  there  had  existed 
mutually  advantageous  relations  for  so  long. 

"I  heard  you  say  you  had  my  protection.  That's  an- 
other lie.  You've  squealed  on  a  few  people,  but  I've 
never  given  you  a  thing." 

Barney  gasped  at  this.  He  knew,  as  every  one  in  the 
room  also  knew,  that  Barlow  was  lying.  But  Barlow 
held  all  the  cards.  Rough  and  ruthless  police  politician 
that  he  was,  he  made  it  his  business  always  to  hold  the 


302       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

highest  cards.  As  sick  of  soul  as  a  man  can  be,  Barney 
realized  that  Barlow  was  doing  exactly  what  Barlow  al- 
ways did  —  was  swinging  to  the  side  that  had  the  most 
evidence  and  that  would  prove  most  advantageous  to 
him.  And  Barney  realized  that  he  was  suffering  the  ap- 
pointed fate  of  all  stool-pigeons  who  are  found  out  by 
their  fellow  criminals  to  be  stool-pigeons.  Such  informers 
are  of  no  further  use,  and  according  to  the  police  code 
they  must  be  given  punishment  so  severe  as  to  dissipate 
any  unhealthy  belief  on  the  public's  part  that  there  could 
ever  have  been  any  alliance  between  the  two. 

"I've  used  this  young  lady  who  seems  to  have  been 
Jimmie  Carlisle's  daughter  and  now  seems  to  be  the 
daughter  of  this  old-timer  Joe  Ellison,  for  a  little  private 
sleuthing  on  my  own  hook,"  Barlow  went  on  —  for  it 
was  the  instinct  of  the  man  to  claim  the  conception  and 
leadership  of  any  idea  in  whose  development  he  had  a 
part.  He  spoke  in  a  brusque  tone  —  as  why  should  he 
not,  since  he  was  addressing  an  audience  he  lumped  to- 
gether as  just  so  many  crooks?  "Through  this  little 
stunt  I  pulled  to-night,  I've  got  on  to  your  curves, 
Barney  Palmer.  And  yours,  too,  Jimmie  Carlisle.  And 
I  'm  going  to  run  the  pair  of  you  in." 

This  was  too  much  for  Barney  Palmer.  Even  though 
he  knew  that  his  position  as  a  stool,  who  was  known  to 
be  a  stool,  was  without  hope  whatever,  he  went  utterly 
to  pieces. 

"For  God's  sake,  Chief,"  he  burst  out  frantically, 
"you're  not  going  to  treat  me  like  that!  You  could  get 
me  out  of  this  easy!  Think  of  all  I 've  done  for  you!  For 
God's  sake,  Chief  —  for  God's  sake  —  " 

"Shut  up!"  ordered  Barlow,  doubling  a  big  fist. 

Chokingly  Barney  obeyed.  Old  Jimmie,  coward  though 
he  was,  and  lacking  entirely  Barney's  quality  of  a  bravo, 
had  accepted  the  situation  with  the  twitching  calm  of  one 
to  whom  the  worst  has  often  happened.  "Shut  up," 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND     '  303 

repeated  Barlow,  "and  get  it  fixed  in  your  beans  that  I  'm 
going  to  run  you  two  in." 

"Run  them  in  because  of  this  Sherwood  affair?"  asked 
Larry. 

"Surest  thing  you  know.  I've  got  all  the  evidence  I 
need." 

"But  — "  Larry  was  beginning  protestingly,  when  the 
doorbell  rang  again.  Maggie  opened  the  door,  and  there 
entered  Miss  Sherwood,  with  Hunt  just  behind  her,  and 
Dick  just  behind  him,  and  Casey  and  Gavegan  following 
these  three.  All  in  the  room  were  surprised  at  this  in- 
vasion with  the  sole  exception  of  Joe  Ellison. 

"When  Mr.  Dick  spoke  over  the  'phone  about  your 
coming,"  he  said  to  Miss  Sherwood,  "I  asked  you  not  to 
do  it." 

Barlow  was  prompt  to  speak,  and  the  sudden  change  in 
his  voice  would  have  been  amazing  to  those  who  do  not 
know  how  the  little  great  men  of  the  Police  Department, 
and  other  little  great  men,  can  alter  their  tones.  He  had 
recognized  Miss  Sherwood  at  once,  as  would  any  one  else 
at  all  acquainted  with  influential  New  York. 

"Miss  Sherwood,  I  believe,"  he  said,  essaying  a  slight 
bow. 

"Yes.  Though  I  fear  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  know- 
ing you." 

"Deputy  Barlow,  head  of  the  Detective  Bureau  of  the 
Police  Department,"  he  informed  her.  "Entirely  at  your 
service." 

"Just  what  is  going  on  here?"  she  queried.  "I  know  a 
part  of  what  has  happened"  —  she  was  addressing  her- 
self particularly  to  Maggie  and  Larry  —  "for  Dick  tele- 
phoned me  about  seven,  and  I  came  right  into  town.  He 
told  me  everything  he  knew  —  which  threw  a  different 
light  on  a  lot  of  events  —  and  Dick  telephoned  at  about 
nine  that  I  was  coming  over.  But  something  more  seems 
to  have  happened." 


304        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"Miss  Sherwood,  it's  like  — "  began  Barlow. 

"Just  a  second,  Chief,"  Larry  interrupted.  Larry 
knew  what  a  sensational  story  this  would  be  as  it  had  de- 
veloped —  and  he  knew  in  advance  just  how  it  would  be 
seized  upon  and  played  up  by  the  newspapers.  And  Larry 
did  not  want  unpleasant  publicity  for  his  friends  (three  in 
that  room  were  trying  to  make  a  fresh  start  in  life),  nor 
for  those  who  had  been  his  friends.  "Chief,  do  you  want 
to  make  an  arrest  on  a  charge  which  will  involve  every 
person  in  this  room  in  a  sensational  story?  Of  course  I 
know  most  of  us  here  don't  weigh  anything  with  you.  But 
why  drag  Miss  Sherwood,  who  is  innocent  in  every  way, 
into  a  criminal  story  that  will  serve  to  cheapen  her  and 
every  decent  person  involved?  Besides,  it  can  only  be  a 
conspiracy  charge,  and  there's  more  than  a  probability 
that  you  can't  prove  your  case.  So  why  make  an  arrest 
that  will  drag  in  Miss  Sherwood?". 

Barlow  had  a  mind  which  functioned  with  amazing 
rapidity  on  matters  pertaining  to  his  own  interest.  He 
realized  on  the  instant  how  it  might  count  for  him  in  the 
future  if  he  were  in  a  position  to  ask  a  favor  of  a  person  of 
Miss  Sherwood's  standing;  and  he  spoke  without  hesita- 
tion: 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  this  Sherwood  matter. 
If  any  one  ever  asks  me,  they'll  not  get  a  word." 

There  was  swift  relief  on  the  faces  of  Barney  and  Old 
Jimmie;  to  be  instantly  dispelled  by  Chief  Barlow's  next 
statement  which  followed  his  last  with  only  a  pause  for 
breath : 

"The  main  thing  we  want  is  to  stick  these  two  crooks 
away."  He  turned  on  Barney  and  Old  Jimmie.  "I've 
just  learned  you  two  fellows  are  the  birds  I  want  for  that 
Gregory  stock  business.  I  've  got  you  for  fair  on  that.  It  '11 
hold  you  a  hundred  times  tighter  than  any  conspiracy 
charge.  Casey,  Gavegan  —  hustle  these  two  crooks  out 
of  here." 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        305 

The  next  moment  Casey  and  Gavegan  had  handcuffs  on 
the  prisoners  and  were  leading  them  out. 

"Good  for  you,  Larry,"  Casey  whispered  warmly  as  he 
went  by  with  Barney.  "I  knew  you  were  going  to  win 
out,  though  it  might  be  an  extra-inning  game!" 

At  the  door  Barlow  paused.  "I  hope  I've  done  every- 
thing all  right,  Miss  Sherwood?" 

"Yes  —  as  far  as  I  know,  Mr.  Barlow." 

Again  Barlow  started  out,  and  again  turned.  "And 
you,  Brainard,"  he  said,  rather  grudgingly,  "I  guess  you 
need  n't  worry  any  about  that  charge  against  you.  It'll 
be  dropped." 

And  with  that  Barlow  followed  his  men  and  his  prisoners 
out  of  the  room. 

Then  for  a  moment  there  was  silence.  As  Larry  saw  and 
felt  that  moment,  it  was  a  moment  so  large  that  words 
would  only  make  a  faltering  failure  in  trying  to  express  it. 
He  himself  was  suddenly  free  of  all  clouds  and  all  dangers. 
He  had  succeeded  in  what  he  had  been  trying  to  do  with 
Maggie.  A  father  and  a  daughter  were  meeting,  with 
each  knowing  their  relationship,  for  the  first  time.  There 
was  so  much  to  be  said,  among  all  of  them,  that  could 
only  be  said  as  souls  relaxed  and  got  acquainted  with  each 
other. 

It  was  so  strained,  so  stupendous  a  moment  that  it 
would  quickly  have  become  awkward  and  anti-climac- 
teric but  for  the  tact  of  Miss  Sherwood. 

"Mr.  Brainard,"  she  began,  in  her  smiling,  direct 
manner,  with  a  touch  of  brisk  commonplace  in  it  which 
helped  relieve  the  tension,  "I  want  to  apologize  to  you 
for  the  way  I  treated  you  late  this  afternoon.  As  I  said, 
I've  just  had  a  talk  with  Dick  and  he's  told  me  every- 
thing —  except  some  things  we  may  all  have  to  tell  each 
other  later.  I  was  entirely  in  the  wrong,  and  you  were 
entirely  in  the  right.  And  the  way  you  've  handled  things 
seems  to  have  given  Dick  just  that  shock  which  you  said 


306       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

he  needed  to  awaken  him  to  be  the  man  it 's  in  him  to  be. 
I'm  sure  we  all  congratulate  you." 

She  gave  Larry  no  chance  to  respond.  She  knew  the 
danger,  in  such  an  emotional  crisis  as  this,  of  any  let-up. 
So  she  went  right  on  in  her  brisk  tone  of  ingratiating 
authority. 

"I  guess  we've  all  been  through  too  much  to  talk. 
You  are  all  coming  right  home  with  me.  Mr.  Brainard 
and  Mr.  Ellison  live  there,  I'm  their  boss,  and  they've 
got  to  come.  And  you've  got  to  come,  Miss  Ellison,  if 
you  don't  want  to  offend  me.  I  won't  take  'no.'  Besides, 
your  place  is  near  your  father.  Wear  what  you  have  on ; 
in  a  half  a  minute  you  can  put  enough  in  a  bag  to  last  until 
to-morrow.  To-morrow  we  '11  send  in  for  the  rest  of  your 
things  —  whatever  you  want  —  and  send  a  note  to  your 
Miss  Grierson,  paying  her  off.  You  and  your  father  will 
have  my  car,"  she  concluded,  "Mr.  Brainard  and  Dick 
will  ride  in  Dick's  car,  and  Mr.  Hunt  will  take  me." 

And  as  she  ordered,  so  was  it. 

For  fifteen  minutes  —  perhaps  half  an  hour  —  after  it 
rolled  away  from  the  Grantham  Hotel  there  was  absolute 
stillness  in  Miss  Sherwood's  limousine,  which  she  had 
assigned  to  Maggie  and  her  father.  Maggie  was  near 
emotional  collapse  from  what  she  had  been  through ;  and 
now  she  was  sitting  tight  in  one  corner,  away  from  the 
dark  shadow  in  the  other  corner  that  was  her  newly 
discovered  father  who  had  cared  for  her  so  much  that  he 
had  sought  to  erase  from  her  mind  all  knowledge  of  his 
existence.  She  wanted  to  say  something  —  do  something; 
she  was  torn  with  a  poignant  hunger.  But  she  was  so 
filled  with  pulsing  desires  and  fears  that  she  was  im- 
potent to  express  any  of  the  million  things  within  her. 

And  so  they  rode  on,  dark  shadows,  almost  half  the 
width  of  the  deeply  cushioned  seat  between  them.  Thus 
they  had  ridden  along  Jackson  Avenue,  almost  into 
Flushing,  when  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  first  words 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       307 

of  the  journey.  They  were  husky  words,  yearning  and 
afraid  of  their  own  sound,  and  were  spoken  by  Maggie's 
father. 

"I  —  I  don't  know  what  to  call  you.  Will  —  will 
Maggie  do?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"I'm  —  I'm  not  much,"  the  husky  voice  ventured 
on;  "but  what  you  said  about  going  away  —  for  my 
sake  —  do  you  think  you  need  to  do  it?" 

"  I  've  made  —  such  a  mess  of  myself,"  she  choked  out. 

'"'Other  people  were  to  blame,"  he  said.  "And  out  of 
it  all,  I  think  you  're  going  to  be  what  —  what  I  dreamed 
you  were.  And  —  and  —  " 

There  was  another  stifling  silence.  "Yes?"  she 
prompted. 

"I  wanted  to  keep  out  of  your  life  —  for  your  sake," 
he  went  on  in  his  strained,  suppressed  voice.  "But  — 
but  if  you're  not  ashamed  of  me  now  that  you  know  all" 
—  in  the  darkness  his  groping  hand  closed  upon  hers  — 
"I  wish  you  would  n't  —  go  away  from  me,  Maggie." 

And  then  the  surging,  incoherent  thing  in  her  that 
had  been  struggling  to  say  itself  this  last  half-hour, 
suddenly  found  its  voice  in  a  single  word : 

"  Father ! "  she  cried,  and  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Maggie!"  he  sobbed,  crushing  her  to  him. 

All  the  way  to  Cedar  Crest  they  said  not  another  word ; 
just  clung  to  each  other  in  the  darkness,  sobbing  —  the 
first  miraculous  embrace  of  a  father  and  daughter  who  had 
each  found  that  which  they  had  never  expected  to  have. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

IT  was  ten  the  next  morning  at  Cedar  Crest,  and  Larry 
Brainard  sat  in  his  study  mechanically  going  over  his 
figures  and  plans  for  the  Sherwood  housing  project. 


3o8       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

For  Larry  the  storms  of  the  past  few  weeks,  and  the 
whirlwind  of  last  night,  had  cleared  away.  There  was 
quiet  in  the  house,  and  through  the  open  windows  he 
could  glimpse  the  broad  lawn  almost  singing  in  its  sun- 
gladdened  greenness,  and  farther  on  he  could  glimpse 
the  Sound  gleaming  placidly.  Once  for  perhaps  ten 
minutes  he  had  seen  the  overalled  and  straw-hatted 
figure  of  Joe  Ellison  busy  as  usual  among  the  flowers. 
He  had  strained  his  eyes  for  a  glimpse  of  Maggie,  but  he 
had  looked  in  vain. 

Despite  all  that  had  come  to  pass  at  the  Grantham  the 
previous  evening,  Larry  was  just  now  feeling  restless 
and  rather  forlorn.  His  breakfast  had  been  brought  to 
him  in  his  room,  and  he  had  not  seen  a  single  member  of 
last  night's  party  at  the  Grantham  since  they  had  all 
divided  up  according  to  Miss  Sherwood's  orders  and 
driven  away;  that  is  he  had  really  seen  no  one  except 
Dick. 

Dick  had  gripped  his  hand  when  he  had  slipped  in 
beside  Dick  in  the  low  seat  of  the  roadster.  "You're  all 
right,  Captain  Nemo! — only  I'm  going  to  be  so  brash 
as  to  call  you  Larry  after  this,"  Dick  had  said.  "  If  you  '11 
let  me,  you  and  I  are  going  to  be  buddies." 

He  was  all  right,  Dick  was.  Dick  Sherwood  was  a 
thoroughbred. 

And  there  was  another  matter  which  had  pleased  him. 
The  Duchess  had  called  him  up  that  morning,  had  con- 
gratulated him  in  terms  so  brief  that  they  sounded  per- 
functory, but  which  Larry  realized  had  all  his  grand- 
mother's heart  in  them,  and  had  said  she  wanted  him  to 
take  over  the  care  of  all  her  houses  —  those  she  had 
put  up  as  bail  for  him.  When  could  he  come  in  to  see 
her  about  this?  .  .  .  He  understood  this  dusty -seeming, 
stooped,  inarticulate  grandmother  of  his  as  he  had  not 
before.  Considering  what  her  life  had  been,  she  also  was 
a  brick. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        309 

But  notwithstanding  all  this,  Larry  was  lonely  — 
hungrily  lonely  —  and  was  very  much  in  doubt.  Miss 
Sherwood  had  spoken  to  him  fair  enough  the  night  be- 
fore —  yet  he  really  did  not  know  just  how  he  stood  with 
her.  And  then  —  Maggie.  That  was  what  meant  most 
to  him  just  now.  True,  Maggie  had  emerged  safe  through 
perils  without  and  within;  and  to  get  her  through  to 
some  such  safety  as  now  was  hers  had  been  his  chief  con- 
cern these  many  months.  He  wanted  to  see  her,  to  speak 
to  her.  But  he  did  not  know  what  her  attitude  toward 
him  would  now  be.  He  did  not  know  how  to  go  about 
finding  her.  He  was  not  even  certain  where  she  had  spent 
the  night.  He  wanted  to  see  her,  yet  was  apulse  with 
fear  of  seeing  her.  She  would  not  be  hostile,  he  knew  that 
much;  but  she  might  not  love  him;  and  at  the  best  a 
meeting  would  be  awkward,  with  so  wide  a  gap  in  their 
lives  to  be  bridged.  .  .  . 

He  was  brooding  thus  when  there  was  a  loud  knocking 
at  his  door.  Without  waiting  for  his  invitation  to  enter, 
the  door  was  flung  open,  and  Hunt  strode  in  leaving  the 
door  wide  behind  him.  His  face  was  just  one  great,  ex- 
cited grin.  He  gave  Larry  a  thump  upon  the  back  which 
almost  knocked  Larry  over,  and  then  pulled  him  back  to 
equilibrium  by  seizing  a  hand  in  both  of  his,  and  then  al- 
most shook  it  off. 

"Larry,  my  son,"  exploded  the  big  painter,  "I've 
just  done  it!  And  I  did  it  just  as  you  ordered  me  to! 
Forgot  that  Miss  Sherwood  and  I  had  had  a  falling  out, 
and  as  per  your  orders  I  walked  straight  up  to  her  and 
asked  her.  And  Larry,  you  son-of-a-gun,  you  were 
righ  t !  She  said  '  yes ' ! " 

"You're  lucky,  old  man!"  exclaimed  Larry,  warmly 
returning  the  painter's  grip. 

"And,  Larry,  that's  not  all.  You  told  me  I  had  the 
clearness  of  vision  of  a  cold  boiled  lobster  —  said  I  was 
the  greatest  fool  that^  ever  had  brains  enough  not  to 


3io       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

paint  with  the  wrong  end  of  an  umbrella.  Paid  me  some 
little  compliment  like  that." 

"Something  like  that,"  Larry  agreed. 

"Well,  Larry,  old  son,  you  were  right  again!  I've 
been  a  worse  fool  than  all  you  said.  Been  blinder  than 
one  of  those  varnished  skulls  some  tough-stomached 
people  use  for  paper-weights.  After  she'd  said  'yes' 
she  gave  me  the  inside  story  of  why  we  had  fallen  out. 
And  guess  why  it  was?" 

"You  don't  want  me  to  guess.  You  want  to  tell  me. 
So  go  to  it." 

"Larry,  we  men  will  never  know  how  clever  women 
really  are!"  Hunt  shook  his  head  with  impressive 
emphasis.  "Nor  how  they  understand  our  natures  —  the 
clever  women  —  nor  how  well  they  know  how  to  handle 
us.  She  confessed  that  our  quarrel  was,  on  her  part,  care- 
fully planned  from  the  beginning  with  a  definite  result 
in  view.  She  told  me  she'd  always  believed  me  a  great 
painter,  if  I  'd  only  break  loose  from  the  pretty  things 
people  wanted  and  paid  me  so  much  for.  The  trouble,  as 
she  saw  it,  was  to  get  me  to  cut  loose  from  so  much  easy 
money  and  devote  myself  entirely  to  real  stuff.  The 
only  way  she  could  see  was  for  her  to  tell  me  I  could  n't 
paint  anything  worth  while,  and  tell  it  so  straight-out 
as  to  make  me  believe  that  she  believed  it  —  and  thus 
make  me  so  mad  that  I  'd  chuck  everything  and  go  off  to 
prove  to  her  that  I  damned  well  could  paint!  I  certainly 
got  sore  —  I  ducked  out  of  sight,  swearing  I  'd  show  her 
—  and,  oh,  well,  you  know  the  rest!  Tell  me  now,  can  you 
think  of  anything  cleverer  than  the  way  she  handled  me?  " 

"It's  just  about  what  I  would  expect  of  Miss  Sher- 
wood," Larry  commented. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  a  voice  behind  them.  "I  found  the 
door  open;  may  I  come  in?" 

Both  men  turned  quickly.  Entering  was  Miss  Sher- 
wood. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND       311 

"Isabel!"  exclaimed  the  happy  painter.  "I  was  just 
telling  Larry  here  —  you  know!" 

Miss  Sherwood's  tone  tried  to  be  severe,  and  she  tried 
not  to  smile  —  and  she  succeeded  in  being  just  herself. 

"I  came  to  talk  business  with  Mr.  Brainard.  And  I'm 
going  to  stay  to  talk  business  with  Mr.  Brainard.  But 
I  '11  give  him  five  seconds  for  congratulations  —  provided 
at  the  end  of  the  five  seconds  Mr.  Hunt  gets  out  of 
the  room." 

Larry  congratulated  the  two;  congratulated  them  as 
warmly  as  he  felt  his  as  yet  dubious  position  in  this 
company  warranted.  At  the  end  of  the  five  seconds 
Hunt  was  closing  the  door  upon  his  back. 

"I've  always  loved  him  —  and  I  want  to  thank  you, 
Mr.  Brainard,"  she  said  with  her  simple  directness.  And 
before  Larry  could  make  response  of  any  kind,  she  shifted 
the  subject. 

"I  really  came  in  to  see  you  on  business,  Mr.  Brainard. 
I  hope  I  made  my  attitude  toward  you  clear  enough  last 
night.  If  I  did  not,  let  me  say  now  that  I  think  you  have 
made  good  in  every  particular — and  that  I  trust  you  in 
every  particular.  What  I  wished  especially  to  say  now," 
she  went  on  briskly,  giving  Larry  no  chance  to  stammer 
out  his  appreciation,  "is  that  I  wish  to  go  ahead  with- 
out any  delay  with  your  proposition  for  developing  the 
Sherwood  properties  in  New  York  City  which  we  dis- 
cussed some  time  ago.  A  former  objection  you  raised  is 
now  removed:  you  are  cleared,  and  are  free  to  work  in 
the  open.  I  want  you  to  take  charge  of  affairs,  with  Dick 
working  beside  you.  I  think  it  will  be  Dick's  big  chance. 
I  Ve  talked  it  over  with  him  this  morning,  and  he 's  eager 
for  the  arrangement.  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  refuse 
the  offer  this  time." 

"I  can't  —  not  such  an  offer  as  that,"  Larry  said 
huskily.  "But,  Miss  Sherwood,  I  did  n't  expect  —  " 

"Then  it's  settled,"  she  interrupted  with  her  brisk 


3i2        CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

tone.  "  There'll  be  a  lot  of  details,  but  we'll  have  plenty 
of  time  to  talk  them  over  later."  She  stood  up.  "There 
are  some  changes  here  at  Cedar  Crest  which  I  want 
begun  at  once  and  which  I  want  you  to  supervise.  If  you 
don't  mind  we'll  look  things  over  now." 

He  followed  beside  her  along  the  curving,  graveled 
walks.  She  headed  toward  the  cliff,  but  he  had  no  idea 
where  she  was  leading  until  a  sharp  turn  brought  them 
almost  upon  the  low  cottage  which  these  last  few  weeks 
had  been  Joe  Ellison's  home. 

"Here  is  where  we  start  our  changes,"  said  the  busi- 
ness-like Miss  Sherwood.  "The  door 's  open,  so  we  might 
as  well  go  right  in." 

They  stepped  into  a  tiny  entry,  and  from  thence  into 
a  little  sitting-room.  The  room  was  filled  with  cut 
flowers,  but  Larry  did  not  even  see  them.  For  as  they 
entered,  Maggie  sprang  up,  startled,  from  a  chair,  and, 
whiter  than  she  had  been  before  in  all  her  life,  gazed  at 
him  as  if  she  wanted  to  run  away.  She  stood  trembling 
and  slender  in  a  linen  frock  of  most  simple  and  graceful 
lines.  It  was  Miss  Sherwood's  frock,  though  Larry  did 
not  know  this;  already  it  had  been  decided  that  all  those 
showy  Grantham  gowns  were  never  to  be  worn  again. 

Once  more  Miss  Sherwood  came  to  the  rescue  of  a 
stupendous  situation,  just  as  her  tact  had  rescued  a 
situation  too  great  for  words  the  night  before. 

"Of  course  you  two  people  now  perceive  that  I'm  a 
fraud  —  that  I  've  got  you  together  by  base  trickery.  So 
much  being  admitted,  let's  proceed."  She  turned  on 
Larry.  "  Maggie  —  we 've  agreed  that  I  am  to  call  her 
that  —  Maggie  stayed  with  me  last  night.  There  are  two 
beds  in  my  room.  But  we  did  n't  sleep  much.  Mostly  we 
talked.  If  there's  anything  Maggie  did  n't  tell  me  about 
herself,  I  can't  guess  what  there's  left  to  tell.  According 
to  herself,  she's  terrible.  But  that's  for  us  to  judge;  per- 
sonally I  don't  believe  her.  She  confessed  that  she  really 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND        313 

loved  you,  but  that  after  the  way  she'd  treated  you,  of 
course  she  was  n't  fit  for  you.  Which,  of  course,  is  just  a 
girl's  nonsense.  I  suppose  you,  Mr.  Brainard,  are  think- 
ing something  of  the  sort  regarding  your  own  self.  It  is 
equally  nonsense.  You  both  love  each  other  —  you  've 
both  been  through  a  lot  —  nothing  of  importance  now 
stands  between  you  —  so  don't  waste  any  of  your  too 
short  lives  in  coming  together." 

She  took  a  deep  breath  and  went  on.  "You  might  as 
well  know,  Mr.  Brainard,  that  Maggie  is  going  to  live 
with  me  for  the  present  —  that,  of  course,  she  is  going 
to  be  a  very  great  burden  to  me  —  and  it  will  be  a  great 
favor  to  me  if  you  '11  marry  her  soon  and  take  her  off  my 
hands."  And  then  the  voice  that  had  tried  to  keep  itself 
brisk  and  even,  quavered  with  a  sudden  sob.  "For 
Heaven's  sake,  dear  children  —  don't  be  fools!" 

And  with  that  she  was  gone. 

For  an  instant  Larry  continued  to  gaze  at  Maggie's 
slender,  trembling  figure.  But  something  approaching  a 
miracle  —  a  very  human  miracle  —  had  just  happened. 
All  those  doubts,  fears,  indecisions,  unexpressed  desires, 
agonies  of  self-abasement,  which  might  have  delayed 
their  understanding  and  happiness  for  weeks  and  months, 
had  been  swept  into  nothingness  by  the  incisive  kindli- 
ness of  Miss  Sherwood.  In  one  minute  she  had  said  all 
they  might  have  said  in  months;  there  was  nothing  more 
to  say.  There  was  nothing  left  of  the  past  to  discuss. 
Before  them  was  only  the  fact  of  that  immediate  moment, 
and  the  future. 

Tremblingly,  silently,  Larry  crossed  to  that  trembling, 
silent  figure  in  white.  She  did  not  retreat.  Tremblingly 
he  took  her  hands  and  looked  down  into  her  dark  eyes. 
They  were  now  flowing  tears,  but  they  met  his  squarely, 
holding  back  nothing.  The  look  in  her  eyes  answered  all 
he  desired  to  know  just  then,  for  he  gathered  her  tight 
into  his  arms.  Wordlessly,  but  with  a  sharp,  convulsive 


3H       CHILDREN  OF  THE  WHIRLWIND 

sob,  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  —  and  thus  em- 
bracing, shaken  with  sharp  sobs,  they  stood  while  the 
minutes  passed,  not  a  single  word  having  been  spoken. 
And  so  it  was  that  these  two,  both  children  of  the  storm, 
at  last  came  together.  .  .  . 

Presently  Joe  Ellison  chanced  to  step  unsuspectingly 
into  the  room.  Seeing  what  he  did,  he  silently  tiptoed 
out.  There  was  a  garden  chair  just  outside  his  door.  Into 
this  he  sank  and  let  his  thin  face  fall  into  his  hands.  His 
figure  shook  and  hot  tears  burned  through  his  fingers. 
For  his  heart  told  him  that  his  great  dream  was  at  last 
come  true. 


THE  END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
V    .   S   .   A 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  036  621     1 


